Promise me a Lifetime
by freakishly.srivatsan
Summary: "If we could change her mind, she'd make a useful ally." He snorted elegantly. "You don't say?"
1. Prologue

The portal could not be described as anything less than perfect.

He didn't know what else to think, really. There were so many events that happened one after the other, and he didn't know what astounded him the most. One minute he was standing quite alone in the Restricted section, reviewing a book of spells that Tom had suggested reading – something that the prefect rarely did – and the next minute, a whirl of powerful, almost _sucking_ magic spun out of thin air, and in the midst of its intensity, spat out a thin figure.

Even after the spiral disappeared, he could feel the magic crackle around him. For a few moments, it felt like he'd been hit by a powerful stunning spell – he couldn't even perceive his surroundings, or think properly; all he could do was wait for the unsettling waves to pass, to startle his senses, his very being.

But finally it left. He was doing his best to control his breathing, and quickly crept behind one of the shelves. It was cowardly, but for all he knew, it could have been Grindelwald, or his men. Although he was Quidditch captain, he wasn't stupid enough to think he could beat a fully trained dark wizard.

But even after the strange mist cleared, and he realized that the figure was a fragile, bruised girl no older than him, he refused to step out of his spot. For although there was nothing remarkable about her actual features – thick brown hair, delicate build, brown eyes, sort of pretty if you noticed well enough – it was her magical aura that startled him. He never saw himself as a Seer, but was fairly confident of his judgment, and to normal eyes, the girl was just a tired, sad, dirty little thing.

But to his eyes, stood an incredibly powerful, incredibly capable, incredibly _enraged_ witch.

And really, the emotions swimming in her wide eyes shocked him – anger, despair, struggle for control, and blatant _desire._ A sort of killing desire, but the determination to achieve was evident. If he hadn't been shaking with fear, he might have even admired it. But her ragged breathing and exhausted stupor did not in any way decrease the fearsome magic crackling around her.

Not for the first time, he wondered if your emotions could truly contribute to your magical capacity. If that were true, than the girl before him appeared to have enough fuel to kill twenty people with one flick of her wand.

After a while – his own patience to see what happened next surprised him – she calmed down. She looked around – he stopped breathing for a second – and after being convinced that no one was going to bother her, she paced out of the library confidently, her strange robes flying after her, and it struck him as odd that this strange girl, whom he had definitely not seen before in Hogwarts, seemed to know her way out of the library.

And even though he was no Seer, he could sense the precise moment where his life was about to change.

Allowing himself a half scared, half amused smirk, Abraxas Malfoy ran after the strange girl.

**A/N: Well, I've always been a fan of Tom Riddle Junior/ Hermione Granger ships. I thought I'd take a shot. I must warn you, although it may seem like the usual time travel fic, the characters are going to seem different. I can't exactly say OOC, because the books don't describe his personality in detail, and no one really knows what his true nature was like. That's what FanFiction is for, don't you think?**


	2. Chapter 1

Maybe being expelled really was worth it, if it meant I wouldn't have to see his mocking, dreadfully fake face again.

But no, I realized sadly, as I jotted down the last word of the _infuriating_ Transfiguration essay, I wouldn't just be expelled if I flung an Unforgiveable at Dumbledore. I'd also be thrown into Azkaban – or worse, kicked out of the Wizarding world and have my memory obliviated beyond belief. It wasn't exactly worth that much. I'd let him have a delightful, slow torturous death one day, but for now, he just wasn't worth that much.

A special essay, just for poor ol' me. I was definitely feeling special enough to kill, but the stupid castle had too many limitations.

One day, I'd be able to use my other name. One day, I'd attain freedom for the entire Wizarding world. Abraxas had laughed at the name I'd created, but even he had grudgingly admitted that it had a nice ring to it.

Lord Voldemort. Erm. Didn't sound too friendly, though. Maybe I should remove the "lord" part. Abraxas said that in order to succeed in my plan, I'd need a few friends. Personally, I thought me appointing an army of half a million House Elves seemed far more likely than me making friends.

I was fumbling with my quills for a while, when I heard noises outside. Some girl was arguing with the Portrait. Honestly, the number of fan girls Abraxas had accumulated was annoying me – though I wasn't blaming him. Did these girls know him at all? Sure, I had more or less been ignoring him until fifth year, but when he offered his friendship, I gratefully took it…after doing a complete background research. At first I had thought of him as a useful ally, but we had too many mutual ideas to let it at just that. I had to call him a friend now, even though the word still made me wince.

But then the voice outside said something that made me freeze.

"I need to see Tom Riddle immediately."

No one had approached me after classes before – at least, no student, anyway. It really must have been very important. I briefly wondered if I knew this girl. Then I recalled her strange, firm, demanding voice in my mind, and realized that I didn't know her. Nor did I want to.

Needless to say, the Portrait was startled. It just stupidly continued to ask her for the password.

Two seconds later, I froze for the second time.

"Samira Khola!"

An ancient spell. It could have been from any civilization – I honestly didn't remember if it were Asian or Egyptian – but the spell caused the man in the Portrait to vanish, while simultaneously breaking all the Guard spells I'd fixed.

I wasn't safe. I felt it.

_You don't say, _a voice in my head said sarcastically. I quickly whipped out my wand.

She barged in with obvious intention to surprise me, and before I could take in her appearance, she had opened her mouth. "Avada Ked – "

"Floran Chorda," I hissed.

The strings broke out from the corners of the room, covering her mouth first. The serpent creepers then proceeded to keep her in place, and I carefully made sure they weren't holding her too hard. I had to find out why she was going to kill me, after all.

She didn't even struggle, and I wasn't surprised. A witch with enough magical knowledge to knock out all magical locks with a single spell would also have the brains to know there isn't any use fighting the Serpents. She even seemed a bit calm about it.

"Who are you?" I demanded, and then felt unusually stupid, because she obviously couldn't reply. She didn't exactly roll her eyes, but I saw the flicker in her orbs that seemed to say, _Really now?_

Behind her, someone chuckled. I relaxed after I realised who it was.

"I bet someone is feeling like quite the imbecile," said Abraxas, making his way to my side. Then his expression turned serious. "She came out of a portal in the middle of the library. Quite a sight; you'd have enjoyed it."

"Really? What did it look like?" Maybe I knew the spell. It wasn't highly probable, but Hogwarts certainly had one of the most impressive libraries, and it was safe to say I was well acquainted with a majority of the books.

"Honestly?" I couldn't even make out what sort of magic it was. Not that it actually matters to us, "he continued, "But I'm fairly sure it was illegal. Spirals of power, and an intense core. The sucking kind. It sort of looked like the spell you'd tried out last week, Tom, except the object, "He looked at her with narrowed eyes, "Came unharmed."

A spell that resembled the Fenestrus spell. I'd never read about anything like that – the future glimpse spell hadn't even worked for me in the first place. I remembered how disappointed I'd been, knowing I wasn't strong enough. Then again, attempting the spell when I had injuries may not have been the perfect way to deal with it.

I released the coils around her neck, allowing her some sort of head movement. "Have you heard of the Hrudaya Sardus spell?"

A few moments of silence lapsed. Only Abraxas gave me a questioning look.

Then, she nodded.

"You were going to kill me. Quite unnecessarily, may I add, because I don't even know you," I spoke clearly. "I don't actually find you threatening, because you wouldn't be the first, but I do have some questions. And you have no choice but to answer them."

She must have snorted, because the coils around her mouth tightened. I sighed. "Abraxas, please help me."

"Could I know what the Hrudaya Sardus is about first?" he whispered.

"Well, we can't force her into an Unbreakable Vow," I told him, "But this spell forces her into a promise. She won't die if she breaks it, but her memory will be completely erased. She'd just be another mindless, voiceless, desireless being, and that," I mumbled, "Is much worse than dying."

"Neat," he muttered, then turned to her. He carefully picked up the wand she'd let go of, and I relaxed the coils around her mouth. The possibility of her being able to do wandless magic seemed to have occurred to both of us, as I could feel our invisible barriers overlap.

Needless to say, seven seconds later, a spell bounced off the shields.

She sighed.

"Listen," Abraxas started gently, "You are quite obviously in distress, and my friend here has obviously upset you – which, by the way, happens quite often, you'll get used to it – "

I really was a patient wizard.

"-But what you're doing is quite uncalled for. We deserve an explanation," his sentence finished in that cool, firm, Malfoy tone.

She didn't submit to it.

"I have nothing to say to you," she spat, and although it was amusing, I nearly flinched at the contempt in her voice.

"Please don't make this difficult," he was half pleading now. "You're not from here. What do you want?"

"I want Tom Riddle dead," she yelled – and promptly burst into tears.

I was glad Abraxas had managed to keep the room shut, and after a quick silencer, we just stood and watched her cry. I sort of found it funny, a fragile shrimp of a girl bound by creepers, highly resembling a caterpillar, who couldn't even reach out to wipe away her tears – but on seeing Abraxas' half concerned, half cautious gaze, I decided against a smirk. Obviously, this emotional moment was something of importance.

Huh. Who was I kidding? Why would I care about the feelings of a wench who just said she wanted me dead?

The blond sent me a pleading look, but I refused to let go of the coils around her limbs.

"There, there," he said in a gentle voice that made me want to rush across the room and puke all over my Transfiguration essay. "Tom has done a lot of strange things, but he's a friend, and he'd never do something overly cruel."

"That's easy for you to say," she bit out. "You've probably killed all your house elves and women single-handedly, and blamed it on some innocent professor!"

"Hrudaya Sardusua!"

I couldn't help it. How dare she? What did she know about Malfoy's family? What did she know about his pain?

Abraxas' change of expression was quite dramatic. First a flash of hurt, then total surprise and then he let out an indignant, "Tom!"

But it was too late. The spell hit her, and her head threw backwards.

"You will not harm Tom Riddle or Abraxas Malfoy, nor will you guide others to harm them," I dictated, as the spell required me to do. "You will serve as their slave, and warn them against anyone who could cause harm."

I should have added more, about her needing to answer all my questions, but I couldn't hold the spell for too long – so I quickly sealed it. The seal caused her to break out of the creeper's grip and be thrown to the other corner of the room.

"For a few moments, we just stood watching her still form, the pair of us breathing heavily. The air was still pungent with the feel of the powers I'd just transferred, and she in return had given me, although against her will. Then, "She's just unconscious, then? You won't do anything more, right?"

For a minute I contemplated telling him to go fuck himself and Rennervate her stupid back, only to Avada her once she opened her eyes, but then the purpose of supplying her with my powers during the Promise would be quite defeated. "Yes."

He looked at me, his curiosity and fear well concealed, and said quietly, "That was a very dark spell, Tom. I thought we agreed not to go overboard."

"That was hardly overboard!" I growled angrily. ""She wanted to kill me! What did you want me to do, release the coils, give her wand back and apologise for the misunderstanding? "

"Well - "

"She's not from around here, as you so nicely pointed out," I continued coldly. "Someone could have sent her. Maybe Dumbledore knows about my progression."

"Don't be stupid, Tom! He's a right bastard to you, I'll admit, but he's not yet off his rocker." He breathed in sharply, and looked at her form with guilty eyes. "How long will she be asleep?"

"A few hours."

"You think she'll go back to wherever she came from?"

I walked over to her form, hands in pockets, and observed her for a while. "No," I said finally. "I reckon she's smart enough to figure out a loophole. She'll definitely stick around, maybe even convince me to kill myself," I chuckled, and soon he joined me, but the discomfort still hung. I added softly, "If we could change her mind, she'd make a useful ally."

He snorted elegantly. "You don't say?" He walked over. "But how are we going to do that? Where do we start?"

I faced him. "I'm sure she'd love a secure position in Hogwarts."

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTY**

It was quite late when she woke up. She got up suddenly, her eyes comically wide and alarmed, but Malfoy casually handed her a glass of water. She took it almost gratefully, and I wondered for the hundredth time how he managed to pull of the "You can totally trust me" look.

She breathed in and out heavily, and learnt to calm down. "My wand."

I handed it to her slowly. She snatched it.

"I hope you haven't forgotten the Promise," I said, allowing the right amount of coldness in my voice. She didn't seem to be affected, but just nodded.

"Do you have plans to stay here? In Hogwarts?" Abraxas asked quietly.

"I have nowhere else to go."

I successfully ignored the puzzled look Malfoy threw at me. I asked her the next question. "Are you willing to tell me where you come from, or why you're here?"

She seemed a little confused at the way I had put the question, then something struck her, and she smirked. "You didn't include that in the Promise, did you?"

"Couldn't hold the spell," I said, gritting my teeth and mentally cursing Avery for the injuries he'd caused me.

"Whatever. I'm not entitled to tell you anything."

"But you are entitled to follow our other orders," I snarled, "And we do hope you're not stupid enough to sign off your memories."

"Geez, calm down," said Abraxas, and turned to her. "What's your name?"

"Hermione."

"Well, from now on your surname shall be Granger, okay?" he went on, obviously encouraged. "I know the family isn't too uniform with the generations, so –"

She gasped.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his pale brows knitting together.

"H-how do you know the G-grangers?"

He relaxed. "They're a pureblood family. Not overly rich, and quite strict with their bloodlines-"

She breathed in sharply.

He looked a little worried now. "Hermione, are you alright?"

"Fine. I'm fine. Go on, since you've obviously designed a plan for me."

…And the enthusiastic blond lad was back. "We've come up with a cover story for, assuming that you don't already have one, of course," she shook her head, and gestured for him to continue. "Hermione Granger, from London. You've been trained by the Pureblood Tutoring School-"

"What?"

"Oh, you haven't heard of them?" Malfoy seemed surprised, and for that matter, so was I. "Well, conveniently, its being shut down by the Ministry, and you needed an immediate transfer. I read about a section of the Granger family getting involved in the Muggle war a few weeks ago, probably for a change of lifestyle, can't blame them, really. But anyway, they sort of died – "

"_What?_"

"-So you could be the sole survivor, who just doesn't want the press to know she's alive. Not to mention a new account at Gringott's has been left for you," he said slyly, "But they don't have to know it's new."

She stared at him. "You opened a new Gringott's account for me?"

"I know it was uncalled for," he said uneasily, "But all I had to do was owl a faithful friend, because I honestly thought you'd need it, and - "

She flung her arms around him.

The scene disturbed me. Did she have no shame? Maybe the place she came from didn't have any modest women.

Malfoy, though, didn't seem too bothered, except maybe a little surprised. "Um. You're welcome."

_Finally,_ she let go of him. "I can actually pay you back, though. And what else have you thought of?"

It was a little unbelievable, how the girl who'd insulted the blond boy a few hours before was now ready to get along with him, the minute he mentioned money. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. All women were the same.

"You sort of need to meet the headmaster after this," he said honestly. "I could back you up, if you need connections, but you don't have to worry. Dippet – that's the Headmaster's name – is quite uncaring, and the war bit makes things look understandable."

"Actually, I _have_ come from a battle field," she said simply, throwing us back from surprise. "But I don't want to talk about it. Thank you for all that you have done."

Abraxas swallowed. "Ah, well, as for the night, I think you can have the other bed. I mean, our roommate sort of left - but only if you're okay with it," he added quickly.

"Why wouldn't I be okay with it?" she said, confirming my suspicions about the lack of modesty – or maybe, to put better, abundance of liberty – in the place she came from.

"Erm. Never mind." He swallowed again. "Here, a list of details. Feel free to modify them, but the point is, you need to be prepared. And," this part he added so quietly I nearly missed it, "I know it's too early to say so, but I hope that we can be good friends."

Unsurprisingly, her intense gaze fell on me. She stiffened, turned to look at him, and let out a soft, "I hope so too, Abraxas."

We didn't even ask how she knew his name. If she knew mine, why wouldn't she know the Malfoys?

I set several protection charms before sleeping. Just to be safe. Not that I'd get much sleep, anyway.

**A/N: So yes, the rest of the story shall continue in Tom's POV. Do take my warning about changes in the characters. And Hermione might seem a little OOC in the next chapter, but you have to be patient for her to get out of the war questions about the actual story shall be answered chapter by chapter. I might also not be updating for a few weeks, but if you review, I shall happily inform you of when I plan to update. Thank you for reading, and please don't hold back from reviewing!**


	3. Chapter 2

"Malfoy, get off the bed," I growled, and resisted hexing his sorry form.

"Wh – wha - ?" He finally got up, and the way he sprung up reminded me of the Granger girl. On seeing my face, he rolled his eyes and made a move for his sheets, but stopped when I said, "She's gone."

"Hermione?" Trust Abraxas to remember weird names and state obvious facts this early in the morning. "How?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't have wasted my time waking you up," I snapped. "I actually don't care where she is, but I'm still worried she might find a way to reverse the Promise."

He groaned, and buried his face into the pillow. "Can't we just assume she's gone to find Dippet? She can't find a reverse spell to a dark chant in just a few hours, Tom. Honestly, not everyone is like you."

"Flattery gets you nowhere, Abraxas."

"Says the teacher's pet. Fuck off and feed yourself. I want to doze off for a bit. I had the most wonderful dream-"

"Later, Malfoy."

In the end we headed to the Hall together – my morning walk lasted longer than I expected. I never doubted that morning was the best time to contemplate on one's thoughts. But today, I was a little more preoccupied. I'd never be able to find out more about the bushy haired Granger girl – well, a simple, "Crucio," might actually work, but Abraxas wouldn't let me. Not yet, he'd say. And not her.

Because she was a remarkable being, and if I could conclude that in the few hours of being in her presence, it must mean _something._

We sat at the usual place – Abraxas at my right, a never-been-occupied seat at my left – and the pompous coot who called himself our Headmaster struck his goblet to get our attention. I was actually too busy in a glaring competition with Avery, but Abraxas nudged me to look.

Granger was standing by Dippet's side, a blank look on her face. It seemed as though she didn't need connections after all. She'd changed into the Hogwart's robes, and I briefly wondered if she had already worked all of this out. Which house would she be put into? I reckoned Ravenclaw.

"Now that I have your attention," Dippet's voice rose, "I would like to introduce the new sixth year transfer student who arrived this very morning, Ms Hermione Granger.

'Ms Granger has transferred from the Pureblood Tutoring school,, as have many students. Although it has been a few days since the academic year started, I am quite certain she shall feel welcome here.

And now, for a brief Sorting ceremony."

It was all happening too fast. Surely he hadn't met her until a few hours before? But then I saw her gaze fall on one professor, and she smiled at him.

Dumbledore smiled back.

Of course. I knew this was planned. How could he be so bold as to send another to see me dead? And did she tell him about the Promise?

Actually, on second thought, she'd better not. I'd be expelled.

But what if Dumbledore preferred seeing me dead over seeing me expelled? What if he showed her the Reversal, if there was one?

I swallowed.

The hat sat on her head for quite a while. She must have been debating with it. I wondered which house she wanted to be placed in. Gryffindor or Ravenclaw sounded likely. Surely she wouldn't want to be placed in Hufflepuff, or worse, the Evil Slytherin House (insert eye roll).

"SLYTHERIN!"

…Or she would like Slytherin. Her target is in it, after all. I so do feel special.

The table cheered – not that they actually cared, they just had something to talk about – and incidentally, the seat next to mine was the only one empty.

Avery looked at the girl, looked at me, and scowled.

So very special.

"I'm not going to trade places with you, so don't ask," Malfoy whispered.

Damn.

Her lips were trembling a bit. I was probably the only one who noticed. She didn't seem afraid, but more like I was a pain in the ass which she just couldn't get rid of. It annoyed me. Sure, Dumbledore had sent her, but her plan had backfired and nothing could be done about it. Surely he'd release her from his services or something?

As soon as she sat down, the table was throwing questions at her. It seemed that the inappropriateness of a young miss sitting next to the "coldest of men" didn't strike anyone as odd. If I had been Abraxas, she'd even be getting death glares from the girls.

"Aren't the Grangers purebloods?"

"Avery, she transferred from the Pureblood Tutoring School. Do talk sense."

"Your name is weird."

"Did Dippet test your magical ability? Or was it Dumbledore? You know who they are, right?"

"Your name is weird."

Where did you first hear about Hogwarts? Oh, wait…"

"Your name is weird."

"Shut up, Heartus," I snapped, and instantly the table fell into a silence.

Granger hadn't said a single word yet. It surprised me, because her eyes were so vibrant, even though there were waves of pain if you looked carefully – she just struck as the talkative type. But then again, she had come from a battlefield, and maybe she still behaved like a soldier. Though, the battlefield part could have been false if she already knew Dumbledore.

Now, I didn't like talking to people – save Malfoy, and even with him I didn't say much in public. But when you have a secret sitting next to you, it's inevitable, really.

"What did the hat say?"

She turned to face me so quickly it made a few people on my right jump a bit. She stared at me with an amazing intensity, the rage swimming in her orbs, and even though I didn't feel threatened, I found myself breathing carefully. Suddenly, the fire dimmed. "It didn't say much at first. Letting me do all the talking," she said calmly, "But right before it announced the house, it said, "Desire and Destiny override Bravery.""

I toyed with my food, while the other Slytherins openly stared at her. Then, I couldn't help it, "Desire. And what do you think you want?"

"I think we've established this before," she says very quietly, only for me to hear. "I want you dead."

I wanted to have nothing to do with her. Actually, I never wanted to have anything to do with anybody, but this gave me even more reason to leave her alone. I didn't want hatred to overcome me – the consequences were blatant and harsh enough in the past.

But as Abraxas pointed out to me later, we needed to keep an eye on her. She'd appreciate a few friends, he said – I snorted at that. She was getting plenty of attention, from all the sleazy males – but I didn't argue. Malfoy was free to befriend her.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTY**

What bothered me was that he was trying to make us befriend each other.

"Say, Hermione. Tom and I, we like to finish our Arithmancy homework at the library, since it sort of sparks inspiration. We heard from your dorm mate – the girl with the unusually pale hair – that you do your assignments weeks before the submission date and, well, you're not exactly alone. Want to join us?"

I mean, what in the flipping Underworld?

Not only did he not do homework "weeks before the submission date," he wouldn't do it in the library, least of all in the presence of company. And, oh, he _hated_ Arithmancy.

What was he playing at?

"Sure," she said, though when she met my eyes, she didn't look so sure.

Granger, meanwhile, was doing excellently in all the classes. She'd managed to befriend the Slytherin outcast, Becka Bulstrode – a quiet, frightfully thin but efficient witch – and sat in the very first desk, and rose her hand just as much as I did. She was insolent, fierce, attractive – and the only one brave enough to argue with me in Slughorn's class.

It had been a normal start, at first.

"Sorry I'm late, class," he made his way into the classroom in his weird, sheepish way. He stopped at her desk to face the others; nothing unexpected, seeing that her desk was so very in the front that it was a meter away from his own usual place. "Ms Granger, is it? Pleased to have you here, dear, and welcome, Ms Granger. My, what delightful enthusiasm! In fact – "

Wait for it…

"-it almost rivals that of our beloved Mr Riddle's!"

I flashed him a modest smile, feeling reassured when he said, "almost."

Internally, I groaned. I was being immature – I should certainly put aside this petty rivalry I seemed to have with Granger and avoid her. But then, I reflected, it's not petty when someone tries to kill you. No one had ever made me feel this insecure – not even Dumbledore, not even the matron at the orphanage, not any of the pretty purebloods who wrinkled their delicate noses as though smartass Halfbloodedness was catching.

And here, was a shrimp of a girl, who'd only been here for three days, and hadn't said much to me except, "I want you dead," and I was feeling uneasy.

Not threatened. Really.

"Ah! Would you look at that! You're in luck, my young sixth years," he picked up a jovial, I'm-fabulous tone, "For today we are going to venture into the world of Rainbow potions.

'The Rainbow potions are significant members of the Emoticus Pronshua collection of potions and spells. They include a variety of emotions. Perhaps Mr Riddle could humour us on what these potions truly are?"

It wasn't partiality, per say. But so far, in all of Slughorn's Gryffindor – Slytherin classes, it had always been me who'd raised his hand to answer.

I smiled pleasantly. Extra reading always came in handy.

"Each colour stimulates a particular emotion, "I spoke clearly, directly cutting to the chase. "Violet for Lust, Indigo for pensiveness, Blue for calm, Green for guilt, Yellow for energetic, Orange for artistic view and Red for Optimism."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Granger wiggle in her seat, obviously dying to add more. Pah. As if Slughorn would ask for other's input.

"Fantastic, To – Mr Riddle," Slughorn said pleasantly, "But it seems you lack a few details. Anyone willing to tell us the modifications? Dare I ask for input?"

Huh. Guess he would.

Predictably, her hand shot up in the air.

"Ms Granger. How lovely. Go on."

"Indigo isn't just for pensiveness, it gives you a sharper reality. All your senses become more perceptive –"

"If you find another meaning for the word "pensive", do let me know," I said coldly.

Instantly the class fell into a curious silence. Abraxas openly gaped at me, and believe me, he _never_ did that.

Even Slughorn seemed a little stunned, his facial expression balancing a little alarm, confusion, and admiration. I never interrupted classes. Never.

"'Pensive" means thoughtful, _Tom._ Indigo gives you an intense physical awareness of your surroundings, though it's called an emotion stimulator," she said sweetly. "The truth is, none of the emotion potions create actual emotions. That is sort of impossible. They create conditions which make it possible for the emotion you desire, to surface. Oh, and you've got a few colours wrongly interpreted."

I was going to retort in such a way she'd never speak again. I was. But she wasn't done. "Green isn't _guilt._ It enables the taker to draw guilt out of others. Why would anyone _want_ to feel guilty?"

"The same reason they take poison," I snarled, "It's not always for them. It could be used to eliminate a potential enemy."

She snorted. "What? Let them die of guilt?"

"Some call it torture."

Slughorn chuckled. He actually looked like he was about to point out that _I_ was wrong – I had caught that guilty look on his face – and that made me reconsider shooting more arguments. I compressed my lips.

What I said next was something that the class would never, ever forget. It was my most humiliating moment, _everybody's_ most gleeful jaw-drop moment, Abraxas' most sympathetic moment and Slughorn's most pleasantly surprised moment (because we _really_ needed more of those, despite the fact he's pleasantly surprised all the time).

"What else did I get wrong?"

I swear, I said it in the least pathetic way possible. But the gasps came.

I couldn't blame them. Tom Riddle the Really Cold Genius Half Blood Prefect did _not_, by any means, make mistakes, and more importantly, did not ask where he went wrong.

She stared at me for what seemed like ages, but her voice didn't crack or show any surprise in the slightest. "Red. You got Red wrong, but only because there is no proper evidence as to what it does."

"Excuse me, _Hermione,_" I interrupted, "But I happen to know of the side effects. Lightheadedness, a tendency to ignore negative qualities, euphoria…"

"And occasional glimpses of the future. Hardly qualifies as Optimistic stimulation," she added quietly. "And there lies the problem. All potions, spells and charms that are supposed to give you a view of the future are unstable because some people are simply not meant to glance at the future. True Seers can look without changing events. Ordinary wizards, for lack of better word, go mad."

"Oh, _surely_ you do not believe in such nonsense. Not meant to see the future, indeed. That is called limiting our magical potential."

"Oh," she laughed mirthlessly, "Oh, you're quit mistaken Tom. The consequences of the Red potion do not teach us to limit our magical potential but our magical morals.

'Only some are privileged with a mindset to not tamper with the future, and are thus gifted Seers – not the other way around. I have long since learnt not to underestimate the art of divination. Why, if we didn't have limits, then one can safely argue that it is only fair to indulge in the Dark arts. Isn't that what dark wizards believe, Tom? That the Dark side is not a show of evil but a mark of liberty in exercising magic?"

And that, young wizards, is how everyone realised how easy it was to dive into exceptionally stunning silences. They held their breaths, Slughorn dimmed a bit; Malfoy kept a painfully controlled face.

Because this was the moment of truth. If I argued that yes, I did believe the Dark Arts implied liberty, the rumours about me being a dark wizard would be considered true. If I went along with her, it would mean accepting defeat and _that, _was something Tom Riddle the Really Cold Genius Half Blood Prefect simply did not do.

It was a moment waiting for.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTY**

**A/N: Sorry I didn't update soon. Yes, Hermione is in Slytherin – but I did mention that she looked like she was debating with it. And, as promised before, the OOCness shall be explained. Very gradually. I'm not very fond of disclaimers, but if you think it's necessary, please mention it. And do review!**


	4. Chapter 3

I didn't give them the satisfaction.

"So what else does the Red Potion do?"

Yes. I actually changed the topic.

Contrary to popular belief, winning arguments and beating people verbally to the ground was _not_ my aim in life. What was the point? I was surrounded by superficial, narrow minded morons whose concept of Good and Bad was so surface – skimming I'm surprised they can learn different spells without questioning the motives.

Personally, I did not care about what people thought of me – as long as said opinions did not affect my flawless reputation with people of power – right now, my professors, but one day, the corrupted ministers.

If I offered my argument, it would pass straight to Dumbledore.

I expected Granger to look put off, but she just seemed bored. The reactions of the others, however, was more than satisfactory – disappointment.

"Nightmares," she went on. "It is actually ironic that you thought the potion represents optimism, because every taker so far has reported vivid nightmares."

It seemed that the day's surprises would never cease to pop out, because I felt very ashamed for being unaware of such a vital piece of information. I voiced this. "I didn't know that."

"We all make mistakes," Slughorn finally decided to interject jovially, "But excellent assessment, Ms Granger."

I happen to have the ability to pay attention loyally in class, and yet think of something else entirely. To say that my mind was consumed by thoughts of a pair of intelligent, fierce, sad brown eyes would be an understatement.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTY**

There was actually a time when I and Dumbledore got along. Fantastically, in fact.

Back then, it amused him that I was so interested in the various branches of magic. He used to give me advice, drop friendly quotations and enquire about my summer plans whenever he passed me in the corridors.

"If there is one thing that magic cannot do," he once told me, "Its understanding people. You could use Veritaserum, but even then there would be secrets that the person themselves weren't aware of."

"So we can't understand anyone, then, Professor?" I asked, pure in intention.

"Well, you can try," he said, "And though you can't decipher them completely, if you care enough, you'll get somewhere.

'But remember, there are some people you simply cannot understand, no matter how interested you are. They are always full of mysteries.

'Unfortunately, these people always end up being an important aspect of your life."

"Like what, Professor?"

"Oh, anybody who could matter. A friend, an enemy, a lover, a mother, a teacher." His eyes twinkled. "You need these people to hold you back from going too far. Because no matter how much you hate limits, they have to be there. Good night."

It wasn't that Granger was the only mysterious person I'd ever met. There was Abraxas, a friend; there was Cassandra Bolarden, the girl I was attracted to, who always acknowledged me politely. There was Dumbledore, who, if not an enemy, stood in my way.

But I didn't know what Granger was capable of being to me. Although, I _did_ seem to remember that she was my slave.

"Return these to the library," I said half cheerfully, handing her a stack of seven monstrous books (I honestly don't understand why people don't use levitation spells. Its like they _want_ their life to be complicated). "With your bare hands. No spells."

"Why the hell would I – "and then she winced in pain, clutching at her neck. The spell was reminding her that she was my slave. "Fine."

She seemed to be walking awfully slowly for someone who was capable of carrying fifteen books from the library on her first day, once she found out there was no limit. "Granger, don't peer at the category. You can't take it. And tell her I'm sick."

She huffed, and marched away with the books.

"You seem like you've had practice," Abraxas said thoughtfully.

"At what?"

"Ordering people about. Was that your first command?"

"We headed for the Great Hall. "Yes."

"Well, you'd make a good lord someday. I'm sure you wouldn't even have to torture people into obeying you. You're smooth."

"If you weren't my ally, I'd smack you for forgetting so soon that I had to make her Promise. Smooth, indeed."

Abraxas (as I had predicted) scheduled the "Arithmancy homework at library" session the next day. We sat down for dinner, exchanged any new spells we had learnt – people were still shocked I had convinced him to read more – and I started feeling a little tense.

With every trip that Granger stole to the library, the possibility of her finding a Reverse was increasing.

It was clear that I viewed her as an obstacle, but there was also a part of me that believed she wouldn't kill me. That her decision to try the first time had been impulsive. Like she's seen much more of the world than me.

She walked into the hall and Abraxas was about to call out to her…and she walked straight to the Gryffindor table.

I'm not joking. I don't even know if I'm capable.

I looked at Malfoy, and he nodded numbly. We dove under the table, whispered, "Magnifero Hermione," and sat straight.

We had learnt the spell a few weeks before, at a library in Diagon Alley. On saying a name, we'd not only be able to hear the person's voice, but also the sounds they hear – you could follow conversations, and the voices would ring only in your ears.

Of course, we also had to peer at the Gryffindor table to know who said what.

"Hello," said my slave (okay, I have got to learn how to suppress my triumph).

"I'm not even going to ask you what you want," said Septimus Weasely, bored. "Get lost."

"Why do you hate me?" she asked, hurt.

"You're a Slytherin," said Martha Brown. "And Slytherins are cunning."

Granger regarded her. "Hi, Martha." The table hissed at her judicial use of first name. "You're in my Potions, and a few other classes, right?"

"Yeah."

She bent forward. "Is it safe to say you value intelligence?"

"Of course she does," Artemis Logan spoke proudly. "Smartest Gryffindor there is."

"Do you remember what the Sorting Hat said about Slytherin, back when you were in first year?"

"Those cunning folk will do anything to achieve their means."

"And? Resourcefulness and ambition. That can't be ignored."

"Oh, yes, ambition is a wonderful trait," Weasely said sarcastically, "How did you know that, anyway?"

"Headmaster," she answered easily. "But the Sorting Hat didn't mention evil, did it?"

"It's implied," said Brown. "You're ambitious, and you'd kill to get what you want."

"What if I was ambitious to stop war?" she said. "What if I'd rather use my cunning to fool enemies, for the greater good?"

They stared at her. "She's got a point," Megal Longbottom said slowly, " But you're still surrounded by prejudiced purebloods. It'll rub off on you."

"My parents died in the Muggle war, because they willingly got involved," she said. "And I think it's safe to say sometimes parents have more of an influence than peers."

There was a horrible silence. But I kept mine for a whole new reason.

Wasn't the "My parents died in muggle war" story created by _me?_ Was it fake Veritaserum?

Or was our back up excuse for her not very different from the truth?

Some of the Slytherins began to call out to her, but she just stood there.

"Now will you ask me what I want?" Weasely nodded. "I want to be your friend. Or an ally, if you will."

They stared at her like she was raving mad. "How can we trust you?" Logan asked the million dollar question.

"I'd like to say I will do whatever you ask," she started, "But right now, I am in the control of the other Slytherins. However, I wouldn't let them take over my actions completely. I'll answer your questions about my views and motives, as long as you don't ask any questions about my actual life."

And before anyone could ask her how they could possibly believe her, she took something out of her robe, and kept it in her palm in such a manner, only their table could see it.

"Veritaserum," Brown breathed.

"What's the point in knowing her views, though?" asked Weasely.

"It's important to know her intentions," Brown explained. She faced Granger. "Sit at our table for a while. After we're done, you can go back to yours."

She didn't make place for her immediately. They got into a secret huddle, whispers of, "Are you sure?" thrown around, and scooted over to let her sit. She sat gratefully.

The Slytherins were more curious than angry. Maybe she did have a cunning plan. They didn't know about the conversation, after all.

But deep inside I knew the girl wouldn't hurt just anybody. These Gryffindors were stuck up, annoying and just plain stupid, but their idea of Good, albeit narrow minded, was strongly backed up by the whole lot, and they were far more capable of kindness and acceptance than my own house.

Though, you really can't beat Hufflepuff in those categories.

She made a brief motion with her hand, so must have consumed the contents of the vial. She took precautions to not let the Professors see the vial – which was quite probable, because no one could resist seeing the spectacle.

"What do you think of blood prejudice?" Logan asked immediately. He was a muggleborn himself.

"I think its shit," she answered bluntly. "You know, there are no genuine reasons why certain purebloods hate muggleborns. One, the oh-so-unworthy mudbloods are going to steal their jobs. Okay, maybe that's not true for everyone," she continued, "But they are convinced that because they've had a more consistent heritage, they have a larger and stronger magical potential. But no one has realised that the first people on earth, would have had to be one wizard and one muggle."

"Why?" Weasely asked, confused.

"Think about it. You supposedly have two types of human beings – one with magic and one without it. If there were only two people in the beginning, and both were purebloods, there would be no muggles at all. And has anyone tried to figure out why we have squibs? At some point, mixing up just has to have happened."

They all nodded, but I noticed a flaw in Granger's theory. There was no solid proof that the first human beings were a pair, at the beginning of time. Wasn't that just a belief? Maybe it was because she was pureblood – but I'm surprised that she hasn't tried reading into muggle culture and science. Life could have very well started from bacteria.

But she wasn't just talking about first beings, I realised, she was talking about the last stages of evolution, when something definite as "man" arose, when the need to mate arose. According to her theory, magical potential was present in humans only at this stage. It was flawed, but it went along with the Wizarding concept of Adam and Eve, and that seemed enough for them.

"What is your ambition in life?" Brown asked.

Granger sighed, knowing that even if she could fight the serum, it would defeat the purpose of trying to befriend them. "I'm going to hold back someone from making big mistakes. I admit, at first I thought the problem would be over if I killed them, but that didn't work out. Now I'm trying to figure out what I should do, but all I know is that I've decided to make myself a part of their lives."

It was obvious who she was talking about.

A million questions fleeted my mind. What mistakes? Why was it a problem? What does she mean, "Make myself a part of their lives?"

I didn't dare look at Malfoy.

"Look, I'm not going to ask you about this person," said Weasely, "But answer me this. What is this person going to end up doing?"

"Cause unimaginable misery to others," she said quietly.

Was she serious?

I'm not a very gentle hearted person, but I never really bothered to _hurt_ other people. Yes, sometimes my mind when to such levels of hateful thoughts I'm surprised I'm not feeling guilty it, but I always kept my thoughts to myself.

Didn't anyone bloody believe I have self control anymore?

In fact, it's all I'm known for, apart from my extra reading. Cold hearted. Unresponsive. Controlled.

"Then that's a good enough cause for me," Weasely said firmly. At his friends shocked looks at his readiness to accept her, he explained, "You know me, guys. I judge people based on what they fight for. She may or may not like this person, but she knows he is wrong." Idiots. Idiots give me headaches. Who is anyone to decide what's wrong? It's not like I've killed anyone.

_He_ doesn't count.

Nor did the other bubbly gossip girl at the bathroom.

"Guess we can't question Veritaserum," Longbottom mumbled. "All right, tell me this. What do you hate?"

"War. People who mistreat house elves, werewolves and other magical creatures. Evil gits who take pleasure from hurting others and deserve a good Sunburn hex to the bum."

They chuckled, now looking genuinely impressed. But Logan wasn't convinced. "Well, so far, you're giving us the impression you're quite brave. You're smart. In some twisted way, you're loyal. So why were you put into Slytherin?"

I didn't think any sensible person could answer that, but Granger was either a complete lunatic, or a complete genius. "Because I asked it to."

The former option has officially been locked.

In a way, though, she might have had a few reasons to ask it to put her in this House. A dead parent's obligation. Melting the hearts of the coldest first and later the warmest.

Increasing the possibility of seeing me dead.

Weasely choked on his drink. Longbottom looked horrified. Brown was smart enough to ask, "Whatever for?"

"Because the person I'm trying to hold back is there," she said, "And when everything has been taken from you, you don't want to see another make more mistakes."

"What has been taken from you?"

"Artemis! We made a deal, we don't ask her personal questions," Brown chided, but Granger, struggling to fight it, gave in. "My parents. My best friend," she choked out. "The love of my life."

Oh.

Well. This is awkward.

She isn't stable now. Not the mentally unstable sort of unstable, but the I-have-nothing-to-lose unstable.

Dumbledore had easily manipulated her into hating me.

In a way, it made me feel a little better. She didn't hate me, exactly. She was trying to do the noble thing – and convinced herself she was doing the "right" thing – but at the end of the day, she didn't know me, nor tried to.

"We're very sorry," Brown said gently, and Logan nodded solemnly.

She wiped away tears – _tears_ – and smiled weakly. "I'm going to be all right. I'm not going to lie – more like I can't – I'm not fine now, but one day I will be."

"Tom," Abraxas whispered. "I think I've heard enough."

I nodded, and with a flick of our wands, we tuned out.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTY**

She came back, flushed and happy in a way that made you notice. It was a change, seeing a girl wearing green around her neck smile so freely and naturally. We weren't known for our display of emotions.

Then again, she didn't belong here. She just chose to.

Malfoy had warned the other Slytherins not to question her, as she was doing a very smart thing by making allies out of people, and that it was none of their business, but Avery just couldn't shut up.

"Hermione," he whined. "What were you doing?"

"Talking, obviously."

This brought out a round of sniggers, but Avery wasn't in the least displeased. She had made it sound so good natured, it was refreshing for even the dimmest of souls.

"Why?"

"I don't want to leave this school with enemies, and I want to start a year early," she said firmly. "More the friends, more the comfort when I get a job and settle down."

Some of them bristled at her last line. I would have, a week ago. But right now, it didn't come to me as a surprise that an intelligent woman like Granger would want a career. It wasn't exactly unheard of. Just didn't happen often.

"Or, you could join our group," Avery moved on, his voice taking a dose of darkness and something that attempted to be seductive but made his voice crack instead. "We've started a club against mudbloods. Practice cool spells, all that. Abraxas here isn't joining only because his father was insistent on keeping his views to himself – which is understandable, really, just not a lifestyle meant for us. But _this_ loser," he pointed at me, "Apart from being one of the fewest half bloods in Slytherin, is the only boy who wouldn't join. But, we'd always make place for an intelligent girl like you, Hermione."

All right.

This is going to sound mighty queer, and I'm _never_ going to say it again.

But right now, I wanted to get out of my seat, hug Avery, and twirl him in the air.

Because he had just _backed me up._ I would now appear ten times less evil in Granger's eyes, and she'd go tell the redhead anorexic Santa Clause.

(Dumbledore.)

(Don't ask me how I know what "anorexia" means.)

She was first startled. "Riddle isn't in it?" Then accepting. "Riddle isn't in it." Then very visibly furious, and for a moment I wondered if the Veritaserum was still in effect. If Avery asked her what she thought, she might actually let him have it. "No, Maddex. I'm too depressed, and my parents just died, and-"

What she said next probably killed her.

"-I'm a girl. Not as strong as you."

Avery didn't argue, just pleased.

God, idiots really do give me headaches.

"I understand," he said, very openly staring at everything but her face.

"Good luck, though," she said sweetly, and looked down, focusing on her pudding.

Though I could have sworn she said, "Riddle isn't in it," between spoonfuls.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTY**


	5. Chapter 4

**Warning: Normal! Tom. This fic is aimed at showing that Tom didn't become the Dark Lord because of pure evil. So if you expect Tom to have not liked any girl until Hermione came along, please do not continue reading.**

She was beautiful.

All she did was bump into me, and she was already blushing a delightful shade of red, every aspect of her whispering an apology – her pink little lips, her honey eyes…

She had always been the prettiest one in the lot.

Oh, yes. I was very much attracted to Cassandra Bolarden. I never thought much of her, but my body always responded to her quite enthusiastically whenever I caught a glimpse.

Secret glimpses. I _did_ have more tact than Avery.

It was sort of sad, when you thought about it. I never made time for these thoughts. Maybe I wouldn't be such an introvert, if I did. Then again, I'd be an airhead, if I did.

Not that all pleasant people were airheads. There was Granger, there was Malfoy, there was Brown, there was Bolarden… okay, pretty much every other smart person this school has right now, is pleasant. Even Becka Bulstrode is learning to open up.

Even so, I was sensible enough to not regard these feelings as anything serious.

Bolarden was actually quite talkative. A senior, and fairly smart – they didn't hand over Head Girl badges to just anybody. In fact, it was my own fault for not letting her know me. I was sort of afraid to, actually. I've seen what love does to other people. They learn to trust someone, only to be severely let down. Heck, Avery even cried once in fourth year because Helen Darius let him court her for four months, only before deciding it was a jolly good idea to prance after the Ravenclaw prefect. And then, there was my own mother.

Nevertheless, Bolarden never struck conversation with me. She'd understood that I wanted to avoid people and respected my distance.

Until now, that is. She was standing precisely a foot and a half length away from me.

"I heard the new transfer student actually approached the Gryffindors. Is that true?"

"Weren't you there at dinner?" I asked.

She bit her lip, momentarily distracting me. "Yeah. I just thought she'd have asked Brown for homework or something. Though, she's quite smart as it is. But not as smart as you, Tom," she added shyly.

Screw avoiding girls. I suddenly love my life.

It was funny how the Wizarding world thought of a lot of things, but the working of the mind was not one of them. I might actually have to read a muggle book on hormones. I needed to learn about control.

"I noticed she- Hermione, right? Well, I noticed Hermione always sat next to you at the table. She's your friend, then?" then she added slyly, "Or more?"

I didn't know how to feel about this. On one hand, I was incredibly uncertain about Granger and if the Head Girl herself – as in, the girl who doesn't have to ask for news because she has enough sources to tell her – was asking me, then a large number of people must be suspicious and would approach me all week.

But on the other hand, I'd be getting a good reputation. At some point, I needed more people to back up my cause.

"A friend," I smiled innocently, knowing she'd take one look at my face and conclude otherwise. "Are you going to plan the Autumn Quidditch party idea anytime soon?"

She seemed startled. "You actually remember me having mentioned it?"

"Of course, who wouldn't? Your ideas are very charming."

Her ideas weren't the only thing about her that was charming.

Okay, this has got to stop. Would I really stoop this low? I didn't even know her favourite colour!

And I knew _Dumbledore's_ favourite colour.

(Brown.)

(Don't ask. It took me mighty long to get him drunk.)

She blushed. "Oh, well, I was actually really enthusiastic about it, but then Headmaster Dippet said it wouldn't work because the other teams wouldn't be really nice about the winning team's victory. He sort of has a point."

"I'm sorry to hear about that," I said honestly. "But you could try hosting a special party at the Room of Requirements, and invite everyone. That way, along with the members of the winning House, a few open minded people would turn up, and it would be worth it."

"Really? We could do that?'

What a strange Head Girl we had. "There's no point in asking permission. A rule you could bend, for a little happiness."

For some strange reason, this just initiated a monkey grin. "It'll make them love the idea even more, Tom. Everyone would turn up, if it meant breaking a rule and actually doing something exciting."

A very strange Head Girl.

She paused. "You give great ideas."

I shrugged modestly, and she left with a quick, "Bye!"

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TY**

"So it's true, then?" Christopher Flint asked me on the way to Charms.

"Yes, the sky truly is blue," I said gravely.

"What?"

"Nothing. Joke," I muttered.

Honestly, what was this, Riddles-not-a-creep-because-Granger-sits-next-to-him-Realisation Day?

Huh. That really was a mouthful. I supposed some people were just not meant for humour.

But Flint threw me off. "You really can use the Room of Requirements for parties?"

I was going to jab at his simplicity of thought and confuse him a bit, but then I reflected, this was a rare day. In a week I'd be back to Weirdass Tom again. Might as well make an impression when I had the chance. "Of course. Lord Slytherin himself started the tradition."

Flint grinned like he'd just been admitted to Hogwarts despite being a squib. "Really? Brilliant!"

By the afternoon, Malfoy approached me, bewildered.

"I'm always the last one to find out about your ideas!" he complained. It took me a moment to register he was just amused. "You, the most boring Prefect Hogwarts has ever had the misfortune to see, actually gave the student body an alternative to parties in the Common room. They're going to mingle, Tom! And you're going to appoint watch outs to warn anyone about professors – thoughtful, by the way – "

"Um - "

"And facilitate a safe Hogsmeade trip, when they sneak in the drinks – "

"Wh-"

"And help out with the charms and decorations! The Room doesn't offer much if we have mixed opinions, after all."

"I beg your pardon?"

He stared at me. "You didn't declare all of that, did you?" He groaned. "Merlin, Tom, the one time I actually think you're socializing –"

"I suggested using the Room, though," I added quickly.

"Oh?" He blinked. "You've talked to the Head Girl, then?"

"Yeah."

"You like her, right? This is going just great. I can't believe it, you're going to love this kind of life –"

"Wait, wait, wait. Just slow down, Malfoy." I inhaled deeply. "First of all, it's called an attraction. I don't want to know how you noticed. Secondly, "this kind of life?" No comment. And finally, what the bloody hell do you mean I'm doing the decorations?"

"Exactly what it means. Now let's go to the library."

"We did a lot of spells in the morning. No need to overwork ourselves."

He rolled his eyes. "Arithmancy homework with Hermione, remember?"

Oh, great.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TY**

I swear, if I ever hear another fan girl tactlessly say, "Oh, Abraxas! You're _wonderful_ at Arithmancy!" in the near future, I was going to levitate Crabbe and hurl him at her.

Malfoy didn't know horse piss about Arithmancy. In a way, I was grateful, because his basic questions triggered something in Grange and before I knew it, she was explaining it so well, I was sure she could finish teaching seven years of Arithmancy in an hour.

Abraxas didn't see it this way, of course. He forced his eyes open every twenty seconds.

But I'd _never_ seen anyone talk so much sense before. I didn't interject much, because not only was she exceedingly accurate in fact throwing, she also sounded so passionate and free – not at all tensing like she usually did in my presence – that it would have been a pity to ruin it.

At this rate, she'd be ahead of me and top the class.

Okay, now I panicked.

"Alright, I think that's enough about numerals for a day," I interrupted. "He's practically sleeping, Granger."

"_Tom."_ He grinned sheepishly at her. "I'm sorry. It's not you, really. I just needed to do homework – otherwise, I hate the subject."

Right. Because having the smartest Sixth Year (hey, if the Head Girl said it, everyone already believes it) as your roommate wasn't good enough. "It's okay," she said, smiling widely.

I had been contemplating the idea, ever since I listened in on her conversation with the Gryffindors, but first, a little clarification was needed. "What do you think of dark spells, Granger?"

She started coughing. What a lousy way to try to distract someone. "Sorry?"

"How do you define dark spells?" I persisted.

She maintained eye contact. "Anything that hurts, or kills you."

"Oh, so every attack or defense spell ever known is dark to you?"

"When I said, "you," I meant the mind, Riddle." She looked away. "You can't heal the mind. You can't heal emotional scars. Not with magic, not with muggle psychologists. Assuming you know what that is."

I nodded, but Abraxas said, "Muggles let the psychotic heal people?"

"Psychologist," I corrected. "Totally different. They heal the psychotic. Er, try to."

He was interested now. "Like, actually heal them?"

"No. They offer comfort, but can't heal," she said. "That's my point."

"What kind of comfort? Potions to calm?"

"Yes. And they talk to you. The healers, I mean."

He raised his eyebrows. "Muggles get paid for talking?"

"They get paid for attempting to understand, attempting to care. They work on a human being's mind like it's an Arithmancy problem. It's very complex, and there is no cure for those type of illnesses, but people don't always want a cure. Some just want momentary relief."

"Okay, back to dark spells," I said impatiently. "Now consider the Unforgiveables. The Imperius and the Cruciatus Curse are dark, by your definition. But what about the killing curse?"

Her laugh was mirthless, so _lacking_ of the joy she'd shown before. "It's the best one in the lot, in my opinion," she said darkly. "A quick, painless death. The only people it hurts is the ones who loved you, but death is something you can move on with, you know?"

She sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than me.

How could she say that? I'd take all the pain in the world, if it meant I would get to live through every day and learn more.

To die, just like that, without achieving any sort of purpose, was a terrifying thought. I didn't want to die now.

Right now I was nobody.

But Malfoy agreed with her. "I'd hate to die slowly and painfully. Like, an illness, or something. Just imagine, something as stupid as Dragon Pox."

She stiffened.

I continued. "So if I were to say that I practiced dark spells every day, what would you do?"

Her routine to calm down was comical. She breathed in, she breathed out. She shook her head rigorously. Massaged her brows. Then, "Let me join you. Please."

Bull's eye.

"I just, I like learning new spells, and-"

"Oh, feel free to cut the bullshit, Granger." I smirked at her. "You want to supervise us. I don't know who you think you are, playing hero, but I accept the challenge. It's fine. We don't practice on people, or any living creatures, for that matter. You know why? Because the spells we practice aren't dark by degree of harm. They're dark because of degree of _self _harm, because they take too much energy, and have possible side effects.

'Exhaustion, and side effects…but there are potions to be taken before. Legal ones, mind."

"I-"

"I know Dumbledore set you up for this, you spineless, judgmental wench," I snarled. "And I'm going to show you that _I don't care._ We haven't done anything wrong. Whatever he told you," I continued quietly, "Were accidents. I hexed a few, but that's it. Nothing more than what those Gryffindor friends of yours do. If you value the concept of broadening your magical knowledge _beyond_ the boundaries of this bloody school, you'll learn a thing or two from our sessions." I stood up from my seat.

"Tomorrow, five in the morning. Astronomy Tower. Your decision, _Hermione_."

And with that, I stormed off, not having to look back to know Malfoy had hastily apologised to her and followed me.

**A/N: Anyone knows why Hermione stiffened at what Abraxas said? *grins cheekily* **


	6. Chapter 5

If I had to point out one thing that I was quite familiar with, it'd be ignorance.

I have been at both the giving and receiving ends. But the truth was, I could only pretend to ignore people. Internally, I was dying to inform them of how aware I was. But I never did, of course. That would defeat the purpose.

So it felt quite odd when others ignored me. I never actually _cared_, but always felt extremely curious as to what they were really thinking. Were they feigning ignorance like I did, or did it come naturally to them?

But when Abraxas ignored me, I felt quite different.

Because I actually cared. I cared that the lad who never spoke meanly of others, nor felt the need to make anyone feel unwanted, was bothered by what I said to Granger, so much that he forced himself to ignore me the whole of dinner. It was inconvenient, too, because now I couldn't discuss what spell I had in mind for the next day.

Guess it'll just have to be a surprise.

So when he decided to talk the next morning, I was stuck between feeling relieved and feeling worse because I knew he'd try to make me guilty.

He didn't, though. "I trust you know what you're doing. What spell are we trying today?"

It was as simple as that. "I'll tell you when we get there. Bring your broom."

He was surprised. "What about you?"

"Just because I hate flying," I muttered, "Doesn't mean I don't own a broom. And get one for Granger."

She was there when we arrived, and I honestly wasn't surprised. But she seemed to edge away from the balcony of the tower as far as possible.

"Can you fly?" I asked her.

She looked up with wide eyes, and said in a dazed tone. "Good morning. I can, but why?"

"We need to get on the roof for what I want us to try," I said.

"You'll push me when we get there."

She said this in such a matter-of-fact tone, I felt the rage build up in me. "And you'll have a broom. What's the problem?"

In the darkness, she stood silently. I knew she was blushing.

"Why are you afraid of the open end?" Abraxas asked.

"I friend of mine hurled himself off – _a_ tower," she said, "And sometimes I think if stand at the edge, I'd be tempted to jump."

"Only if you think too much," I said, bored. "But how inconvenient. Are you chickening out?"

She shook her head. "Who is going first?"

"Me," I stepped to the balcony. "I'm going to create an imaginary platform, for us to stand on. I'll explain the spell when we get to the very tip of the tower."

"Why not here?"

My mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "You'll die when you find out about the spell, Granger. I don't like chicken shits, so I thought I'd surprise you."

She huffed, but I knew she was more curious now.

I positioned myself at the edge, and broke off. A few moments later, I reached the roof. I grabbed the foot of the spike, and stood on the slant surface carefully. I took out my wand and whispered, "Topotendo."

I extended a foot, and on feeling a platform, walked onto it confidently. With every step I took, the platform would extend.

They flew in together, and warily stepped onto the surface. I explained the platform concept to Granger – Malfoy was already familiar with how it worked – and said, "Are you terribly afraid of heights, Granger?"

Abraxas snorted. "It sure did take her a while to get on her broom."

"I can tolerate it if I need to," she said timidly.

"I thought we could try a spell to enhance our senses. You'll have to whisper once you've applied it, or your eardrums will burst. But first, drink this, " I handed them flasks.

"It's just sugar – water," I told Granger when her eyes flashed suspiciously at me. "This spell won't take too much energy, but just to be safe."

"We're going to walk over the lake, on our platform," I explained, once they were done. "We'll test how far the spell works. I suggest you inspect your surroundings, because the spell also helps you identify places where possible portals could open into."

"What if we fall?" Granger asked.

I sighed. "Malfoy, it's your turn to try out webbing."

"About damned time," he pointed his wand at the lake. "Arachnedo!"

He carefully extended it, so as to cover the whole area.

"What just happened?" Granger asked, confused.

"Look carefully."

She did, and gasped.

Hovering over the lake, mid air, was a gigantic spider web, spread out. It was an effective net, and captured you were you to fall.

"Won't someone see?"

"We've mastered every dillusionment spell there is," said Malfoy. "This spell is only perceived by those who the caster allows."

"Are you ready?" They nodded. I pointed my wand to my head. "Synestho Aspadico."

Almost immediately I was engulfed by a million different feelings. I could hear the wind like hearing a storm, I could hear the birds flap about and call, and if I listened carefully, I could hear flowers hum as they embraced the dawn.

My skin felt extraordinary, and tingled at my fingertips. Everything looked crystal clear to me, and when I peered down at the lake, I could actually make out insects splayed about in the weed. The only unpleasant sense was that of smell, and if I were to focus on scent for too long I'd get a headache.

"It works brilliantly," I whispered to them.

I couldn't help but stare at Granger. Despite the very fragile rays of dawn, her face seemed to glow. She hadn't even combed her hair. In fact, it appeared that she had just gotten up from bed and come straight, here. She parted her lips, and I realised the only thing she'd done was clean her mouth.

Her lips were a bit chapped, her eyes looked sleepy yet sparkled, her forehead seemed pale and a bit feverish, and her hair was so messy, it covered half her face. But despite hating anything out of place, I loved looking at her like this. I marveled at the naturalness. I think I finally realised what people meant by the phrase, "The real you."

Briefly, I wondered how lovely Cassandra would look in the morning. But a part of me firmly believed that no other girl could possibly wake up with half the fire Granger seemed to possess.

They followed pursuit – not even stuttering at the spell, considering I'd only said it once – and openly gasped, overwhelmed.

"I'm going to start walking now," I whispered, and they followed, enchanted.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTY**

"That was amazing," Granger breathed.

We were back at the tower, and I had muttered the reverse, leaving no trace of the spell or the spider web. We had explored for a good half hour, finding a few spots where we could actually defy the wards and create a portal at.

I myself was in an unusually good mood. "Which part did you like best?" I asked, grinning. "Walking mid air despite being afraid of heights, or smelling the dew of leaves? Or maybe it was the part where we watched the sunrays glitter over the lake and you could see a hundred different shades of orange and red!"

My smile did not strike them as odd. They could completely relate, after all.

"Where did you learn that spell?" she asked.

I was going to lie and tell her it was from a library book, but Abraxas decided to be honest. "He bought a huge stack of books during the summer. Saved up for it and took hours to pick them out."

"Was that supposed to be a dark spell?" She scrunched her nose. "If it is, I'm speechless. None of it seemed dark to me."

I shrugged. "Grindelwald's men have used it to trace innocent wizards and finish them off. But the Ministry doesn't realise it's a useful spell for Aurors, too." I studied her face. Even after the spell had faded, I found her morning face stunning and real. "If you're going to tell Dumbledore, also tell him to try the spell first. He might gain some sense that way."

"What makes you think I'll go to Dumbledore?" she asked, surprised.

"You do share looks with him during meals," I pointed out.

"He knows why I'm here. He won't interfere," she said softly.

"You rhymed!" I and Abraxas said at the same time – and promptly burst into laughter.

Granger looked at us, amused. "You two are just ordinary sixteen year olds," She said this in a tone of awe, and it got us snickering again.

"Oh, must have been a shocking realization, I knew we'd pass for eighty," Abraxas said sarcastically.

"You _do_ act all tough, you know," she said pointedly. "Well, not you, Abraxas, but Riddle, at least. And neither of you do anything out of place – no rude comments, no badmouthing professors – except Dumbledore – and combing your hair to such a point that makes me want to barf."

"Mine's messed up in bed," Malfoy grinned devilishly. "Ask the girls."

She snorted. "Good try, Malfoy."

"Rhymed again!" We exclaimed. A pause, then he says, "Okay, not really."

The whole hall was buzzing with excitement about the year's first Hogsmeade trip. Everyone was scrambling about to ask Granger to go with them – the Gryffindors, Avery, the Slytherins, Avery, the freaking Librarian, and oh, how could I forget, Avery.

She responded in the same way: She was going with some of the seventh year Ravenclaw girls.

"Ravenclaws are acceptable, I guess," Avery muttered, plopping into his seat.

Granger was sitting with the Gryffindors today, so the seat next to mine was empty during breakfast.

During lunch, though, Bolarden calmly seated herself next to me.

"Hi, Tom," she greeted, smiling. I noticed her lips were covered with some sheen- liquid. Smooth, flawless, delectable. Doll like.

Nothing like Granger's peachy – pink, chapped pout in the morning.

I smiled politely, my neck feeling hot.

"Tom, I really don't mean to be rude," she said so sweetly, even if she had sworn at me she wouldn't have sounded rude, "But one of your parents is a muggle, right?"

"Was," I corrected absently. "My father's dead. My mother is, too, to come to think of it. But I do know about muggles, if that's what you're asking."

She took a moment to recover, then blushed. "You caught on fast," she said softly. "There's, um. There's this boy in Ravenclaw…"

My heart sank a bit. Of course.

"He's really cute," she gushed. "Sixth year. He asked me if I wanted to come over to his room – with friends, of course – and watch a movie."

So she was interested in a boy younger than her. I mentally noted that. "And you don't know what a movie is."

She blushed again. "No. I mean, I know how to creep into the Ravenclaw dorms in the evening, but is a movie, like, a dangerous hobby? Would I get caught?"

"A movie is something you watch," I explained. "Basically you watch a story on a wall. Like, a series of photographs. Except once the people in the photo stop moving, you move on to the next scene. It happens nonstop."

"Like, picturing a book?"

"Sort of," I agreed. "Now imagine your favourite story book. People you never knew start acting – but they won't actually be there. You watch them reveal the story in a series of clips. Except it's so real, you'll be impressed. In black and white, though."

"Oh. So, I won't get caught?"

"No."

"Great. Thanks." She kissed my cheek and ran off to the Ravenclaw table. I saw her talk to one of the boys, his dimples Visible from all the way here as he greeted her.

I'd never felt so warm in my life. The other Slytherins stared, shocked.

At the corner of my eye, I saw Malfoy smile smugly as he chewed his toast.

**A/N: The next chapter will be in Hermione's point of view. Just to explain things. And a surprise waits. I must warn you, though; Hermione's sixth year might be a little modified.**


	7. Chapter 6:Hermione

**Warnings: Character death, OOC but with reason, and a required brush up on facts about Tom Riddle. You may trust the HP wiki page on this. Lengthy chapter compared to my previous ones. Hermione's Interlude.**

There was one negative effect that accompanied trying to save the day: survivor's guilt.

And when your best friend was the Boy-Who-Lived himself, you could bet a million galleons he'd rub off on you.

The tendency to apologise for no reason whatsoever; the tendency to cling onto happy memories for dear life because without them, your life wouldn't be so dear. The exceptionally annoying tendency to try to save people and ultimately being the cause for at least one death by the end of the year.

And the occasional tendency to contemplate suicide because your life couldn't get shittier.

Hermione buried her face in her palms. Things were going so well. They were down to the last horcrux. It had taken two months only, and this owed to all the research she had instigated. Finally she had sneaked into Dumbledore's office to get more information on what exactly happened to Tom Riddle in his sixth year and last year in Hogwarts.

She didn't see anything new, at first. Riddle Senior had been killed at the end of his murderer's fifth year; the same year, the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, Myrtle had died, the first horcrux had been made and Tom Riddle had stayed back during the summer to frame Hagrid for her death.

But Dumbledore's "important notes" sheets also included a few interesting details.

Riddle's father had been knocked out by a killing curse, yes, but he had also been found with a deep gash across his chest.

Tom Riddle had appeared charming to the teachers, and Dumbledore had previously made it sound like he'd been the only one to not fall for his charms – but his notes said otherwise.

Tom Riddle had been bullied at school. At some point in his sixth year, this had changed. He supposedly started making friends. Dumbledore's notes indicated that he wasn't sure if Riddle had already started a group of followers by then, or later.

Tom Riddle's memory in second year had also told Harry that he'd ordered a basilisk to kill Myrtle, but Dumbledore's notes mentioned how odd it was that Riddle sometimes acted like he was just obeying orders. Not an Imperius, but actual blackmail.

Sadly, this had happened in the past and Hermione strived to learn about the objects that the deceased Headmaster had suspected to be possible horcruxes.

They destroyed six. There had been hope. There had been strength. A new page in War.

All went into the fireplace when Molly Weasely died during a Deatheater attack at Diagon Alley.

Funnily enough, it wasn't sorrow that drowned them. It was guilt.

Hermione felt guilty because she had first suggested going shopping instead of Molly, but her offer had been turned down and she hadn't even put up a fight.

Ginny felt guilty because she had argued with her Mum that morning, and she hadn't even said goodbye.

Ron felt guilty because he'd let her go shopping, unlike the others, who'd known it was too risky.

Harry felt guilty because that morning he had told Ron he envied him for not just having a Mum, but having such an amazing one.

And Remus had brought in her corpse that afternoon, shaking, shocked, sorrowful, enraged.

It had been hell for Ron, and Hermione had spent hours alone with him in a locked room, kissing him, holding him, telling him that things would be alright one day. Ginny later knocked at the door, trembling and vulnerable in a way Hermione had never seen her before.

Telling them that she hadn't seen Harry ever since she told him to leave her alone.

That was seven hours before.

It was the first time Hermione had caught him trying to kill himself. Her first guess had been that he was at Dumbledore's office. With the wards gone, she risked apparating there.

And she had been very right. Harry was facing the window, his back to her, holding his wand to his forehead, his hands shaking. "Avada Ke- "

"Some Gryffindor, you are."

He spun around, and her first thought was that he looked shittier than Ron. Internally, she groaned. They were supposed to take care of each other – the three of them. Instead, she and Ron had each other, Ginny and Remus wanted to be alone, and Harry needed someone.

But war meant times of tough luck. She smiled shakily, and the next second embraced him fiercely, thinking nothing would happen to Ron, Ginny and Remus in one night. They stayed like that for a while – unsleeping, holding each other in a way only soul siblings could.

The next day, they were forced to stay with Minerva because she had found out that the hideout had been burnt to a crisp – and remains had been found.

She didn't cry. She couldn't feel.

She thought it was quite strange that her mind had calmly accepted the fact that Ron was dead. It didn't think of the love they had briefly shared, but the friendship that had lasted for years.

And then she realised infatuations came and went, but being a good friend gave you an eternity of respect and remembrance.

She should have taken advantage of her clear mindedness and kept an eye on Harry, some would say later.

But she couldn't have. For, you see, Hermione Granger had never been clear minded. She always thought too much. With every death of a loved one, she had to contemplate on the wisdom gained. It was her form of closure.

From the death of her parents – who, as far as the manipulated muggle world was concerned, had died in world war III – she learnt that if you didn't let your little bird go, she'd die with you; and yet if you did let her go, she'd be the death of you, but in the end your death was inevitable, and the faster you accepted that and granted your little bird her freedom, the better it was for everyone.

From Theodore Nott's death she learnt that to regret having been born and to die by your father's hand and smile because you got the escape you wanted, was the saddest life anyone could ever have.

From Molly and Ron, she learnt that if you've been good to others, kind to the good, respectful to the kind, then even in death, your love prevailed. From Ginny and Remus, she learnt that the most passionate souls could dim if they weren't careful enough.

From Dumbledore she learnt that you could be manipulative, scheming and lie to the Boy-Who-Lived about his enemy, but if it was all for a good cause, you'd be respected.

And from Harry she learnt that if you ever wanted to make your best friend feel like shit and put the whole world – Muggle and Wizarding – into doom, all you had to do was jump off the Astronomy Tower the same time said best friend rushes in.

She refused to think of anything else for the first few hours. She was _angry_, dammit. She wanted to be alone, but her Transfiguration teacher refused to let her out of her sight. She forgot all student protocol and wailed into the older woman's cloak, and soon her professor was crying, too, because with every question Hermione threw at her, hope began to fade: Why did he do it? How hadn't it occurred to him that he had a bloody prophecy to fulfill? How did it happen?

Had they been too hard on him?

Why hadn't they talked to him?

And then she progressed to more rational questions.

Had Voldemort spoken to him, coaxed him to the very edge? Were the wards up now?

What were they going to do?

As soon as she voiced out the most important question, as if in cue, a death eater stormed into the office.

The professor hadn't even had time to take out her wand. Before she knew it, his body slumped to the floor, unbreathing.

A wandless Killing curse.

They said only the darkest of minds could perform such a feat wand less. But what was a dark mind but one hidden from the world by shame, rage and overwhelming pain?

And so Minerva followed her student warily, wand in hand, as the girl walked across the grounds casually, sometimes flicking her wand, sometimes staring at them, bored, until they fell to the ground like flies, sometimes actually bothering to say the full spell.

And then Lucius Malfoy, cunning as always, scored his first victory, and it was Minerva's turn to fall to the ground, as if her life had no other purpose. He cursed, as he had lost his aim.

On any other occasion it would have bothered him that he was going to be killed by the kind he detested the most. But in that one moment, his respect changed sides. Just for a moment. She was so powerful, and it was hard to not acknowledge it simply because her parents were filthy.

Of course, if he had known that temporary insanity fuelled her power, things would have been different.

He regained himself, and held his head high, as he waited for the powerful Mudblood to kill him.

Instead, she whispered a most vicious, "Crucio."

Even the dark lord himself could not have performed such a blinding, intense, all consuming torture curse. He was glad to die by the hands of this creature – and suddenly not so glad anymore, because the pain had reached him to a point where his mind began to resort to hallucinations.

"You killed me, Lucius," his wife said sadly. "You said you wanted the best for me, and you did give me the best. I got an end to my miserable life."

"It'll all be over soon." Potter walked to his form. "For a bastard like you, the pain will last forever, but I'm sure it won't be that bad. Just an eternity of pain."

And the boy was right. Even after death, Lucius' spirit screamed in pain.

In the end, a simple Stupefy spell from the back brought her down. It was unclear why Snape hadn't shot a killing curse instead.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTY**

"Are you going to kill me, Miss Granger? With your mind, I mean," asked Snape, his voice cool and neutral.

"I can't," she said lifelessly. "I'm trying to but I'm tired. Drained. No fuel." She gazed around the room. "Is anyone around? Hearing range?"

"No."

"Okay, then. You're a spy, right?"

"Minerva told you?"

"No. I guessed. No one is stupid enough to kill Dumbledore without a reason."

Snape breathed deeply. "You know," he started carefully, "With Potter gone, my life has no purpose."

"What? Did you fancy his Mum, or something?" she asked dryly.

A few minutes of silence. "Holy shit. You've got to be kidding me."

"Unfortunately, I am not, Miss Granger. And do have some respect for the dead."

"I don't want to think about this. Why did you decide to tell me?"

"Always fast to catch on," he complimented her. She really didn't have a good feeling about this. "I'm going to let you escape –"

"How?"

"You save the world. I die. The end." She had never heard this sort of humour from him before. His sarcasm had never been anything short of eloquent.

She sighed. "Fine. I won't interrupt. Now do explain the plan."

He graced her with a smile – a very, very small one, but a smile nevertheless. Her stomach lurched at the thought that the first smile she saw from him might also be the last, because he sure did sound like he was going to sacrifice himself to cause a distraction. And boy, she was right. "Facts first. There is an effective way to change time – nothing like your silly device. You kill him. Time changes and a satisfactory number of people would live. But," he said sharply, "You cannot survive there for long. In two months your system would begin to decline – you will literally start to fade. Unless, a seer from your own time offers you the right potion, within two weeks."

"That has got to be the craziest idea of time travel," she said. "Now, don't get me wrong. I'd _love_ to leave this place. If I fail, I would be disappointing no one but myself. I've got nothing to lose, just like you," she said quietly. "But why a seer? Why can't I just carry the potion myself? What potion is it? Certainly can't be a legal one, if it's a backup for a particular time travel spell. At this point, I know legality is a dream, but aren't most illegal potions associated with side effects? And why can't we just kill the bloody snake and finish him off?"

"Because to kill him you'd have to be Harry Potter. That is what the prophecy says."

"The prophecy also said that were Harry to die, it would be by the hand of Voldemort. He defied destiny by killing himself. If the main idea of the prophecy has changed, why can't this change, too?"

"Now, miss Granger. Are you telling me that you fully believed Po – Harry was so weak minded as to kill himself? Now don't take me wrong," he continued seriously, "There have been many Gryffindors who have resorted to this method of escaping the world. Life is crueler to some more than to others. And the boy suffered, I admit. But he has seen more pain and death before – in fact, if I don't recall correctly, every death fueled his anger and determination to destroy the Dark Lord all the more. Unfortunately, it is foolish to believe anger equals mental strength. He did not have motive to die…"

"But Voldemort gave it to him." She breathed heavily, beginning to understand where this was going. "He talked to him longer than he usually did."

"And Potter didn't notice a thing. He was vulnerable. I shall not use the word weak, but I shall use vulnerable. It is no one's fault, Miss Granger," he snarled, as she began to cry, "Or, if you disagree, then it will be all of us who are to blame. Some situations simply are neglected. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, the annoyingly true Chosen One. No one would have guessed."

"So he did die by Voldemort's hand, technically, because Voldemort had taken over." she sniffed. "You're obviously not going to tell me why I can't just carry the potion myself. Who's the seer?"

"I've already informed them of their task," he said, completely ignoring her question. "The spell is in Bellatrix's room. Parchment, on her table. She's quite careless."

"Throw facts at me. Facts that Dumbledore had lied about. I know you know."

"You can't come back."

"Don't want to. And I wasn't asking about _those_ sort of facts."

"They are more important," he said curtly. "Once you've – killed him," he said slowly so as to clarify to her what her mission was, "You will have to face consequences. I do not have time to create a background for you – nor do you. You cannot head straight to Dumbledore, for no matter how evil Riddle is even back then, killing someone would still be unacceptable in the eyes of the law – or, at least, wherever it exists. So once the deed is done, you will have to think quickly."

She nodded. Some would have thought it was quite harsh of Snape to expect her to be _that_ quick, but Hermione had learnt quite early that Snape only had expectations set for people who could very well reach them.

That's why he'd picked her in the first place.

"I'll Obliviate my way through, finish sixth year," she said quietly. He looked like he wanted to object, but he must have realised there was no other way – and that Hermione deserved a normal life. "It's no problem. Not much of a life, anyway. But one question – if I cannot survive without being given a potion by another, what about this person?"

"It'll be yours to offer to them once I've undone your locks, Miss Granger," Snape took out a flask.

Snape hadn't warned her that she would have to kill people on the way, but then again, he didn't have to. She wasn't thinking at all – she knew she'd regret it afterwards, she wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she didn't - but right now, her need to avenge her losses as far as possible worked to her advantage. When she reached the room, she found the hag with her back turned to her.

She needed a pinch of bitter, dark pleasure before she left.

"Hello, Bella," she cooed.

She swung her head around, and had just the minimum amount of time to register it was Granger before the other spat a spell and ended her life.

She locked the door, and picked up the parchment on the table. Black had left a piece of toast as well, and without the slightest regard of the corpse in the room, Hermione picked it up and chewed slowly. The incantation was long, and in normal circumstances Hermione would have appreciated the depth.

She breathed in deeply, glad for the recovery of energy, and pointed her wand to the ground.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTY**

The spell had worked, but the mission had not.

The first thing she had done once the two boys fell asleep – the night she had encountered them – was groan at her stupidity. Had she really let the thirst for revenge overcome her? Had she thought Riddle wouldn't be able to defend himself, and cast any spell so as to ensure his survival?

She'd expected him to kill her, but he hadn't. He hadn't tortured her, either. Maybe he didn't want to risk his already shaky reputation – but when he could hide the deaths of his father and schoolmate so well, why couldn't he hide the evidence of the death of a girl whom no one had seen before?

What was she going to do? Killing him was out of question now. Could she act like nothing happened? There were only two ways to overcome someone – attack, or embrace. And now she could do neither, because he'd never look at her like a normal human being.

And suddenly, the weight of her pain, her responsibility and her losses crashed onto her all at once.

Instantly, the cold, indifferent witch vanished, and she wept. She wailed. She screamed.

"Silencio" was a life saver sometimes.

In the week that followed, Hermione tried to pinpoint possible options.

Trelawney had once told her that one day, she would fail to kill someone, and to attempt to kill this person again, or let them be killed, would not be advisable. She had scoffed at that.

She had also predicted that Dean Thomas would choose the path of betrayal.

They later found that Dean was under an Imperius curse, and had been spying all along.

She had predicted her own fall would be by the hand of one who had never been understood. The next day, her body was found at Knockturn Alley, and a few witnesses said a man with protruding, rat like teeth had done it.

Oh yes, Hermione had learnt to forgive. She had learnt to respect.

She decided to pay heed.

She observed Tom Riddle for a week, and so far he had not shown any signs of a boy who'd set a basilisk on a schoolgirl and modified his uncle's memory in order to escape the sentence for killing his muggle father. Hell, he hadn't shown signs of disliking muggles _at all._

These things _had _to have happened months, no, mere weeks before, considering his sixth year had just started. It just didn't make any sense. She had very, very carefully pried into his mind whenever they made eye contact, making him feel threatened in the beginning – but it was like he was hiding his memories _from himself,_ just as Slughorn had done.

Also, back in the future, very few people had personally known him. The few who did had been the ones not from his year, and they hadn't known he was a half blood. But in his own year, Hermione witnessed several references to his blood status. Why would they whisper, though? Why not spread the word, since they hated him so much? Also, Voldemort was described as a pleasant, popular young man. He sure as hell wasn't popular yet.

There was only one explanation she could think of: two major events lead to the rise of Lord Voldemort. The first had already taken place – the deaths, the creation of the first horcrux, and the framing of innocent people. A self obliviation spell could have been possible so as to escape being a suspect; and the second event would have to take place that very year. Something was going to happen, that would remind him of what he had done, and indulge in him a dark desire to conquer, destroy, and recreate.

This event – most likely one charged with negative emotion – would also convince him that everyone had to forget his humiliating past, his heritage. Either a mass obliviation spell – something she honestly hadn't heard of – or mass murder. Well hidden mass murder, possibly only his classmates and a few who knew of his status, such as the Head Girl.

Hermione was hurt, lost, and enraged. But she was also rational and brave.

It took a large amount of bravery to accept the fact that Riddle was_ not _Voldemort. He'd obliviated himself – and Dumbledore, when inspecting his mind during the deaths, must have assumed it to be walls around the mind. In-depth Legilimency wouldn't be invented in another forty years. She had no doubt that Riddle could put up mind walls and block all thoughts if he tried. So why had he opted for obliviating himself?

Either because he wanted to be perceived as innocent, as though someone else had done it to him, or because of guilt and self shame.

And although her mind considered both possibilities as equally likely, her heart believed in the latter.

It took an even larger amount of bravery to accept the fact that she would have to watch out for him.

When she looked at him, she forced herself to think of his resemblance to Harry. It was cruel to his memory, but it was necessary. Another lost soul. The only difference being that Harry had received love eventually, but Riddle hadn't.

Love.

Could it be-?

What if Riddle _did_ learn to love, but lost the girl in the end?

Oh, God. It was possible. Riddle must have felt an attraction to a girl at some point. He must have been closely associated, and gradually gained popularity. Later, something terrible must have- no,was _going to _happen, and it got him into a maniacal spree.

But she could offer a distraction. She could offer him a conscience, comfort when needed, and make him question his decisions.

She would be his friend, or love, if the time called for it. The idea didn't repulse her completely. If it was for the greater good…

But he'd have to trust her first.

It seemed _incredibly_ farfetched, but Trelawney had said she'd have to protect the person she failed to kill. Riddle's promise forced her to relay to him any possible threats. She didn't find any reference of a binding Promise other than the Unbreakable Vow _anywhere_, and she doubted she would anytime soon.

Who else offers protection but a friend, a possible love interest or in the least, a trusted ally? In a twisted way, it made sense. Her destiny now quite obviously revolved around his – and if not her destiny, her mission.

If she ever felt like she wanted to give up on him, all she'd have to do was remember Harry's bemused, crazy smile before he deliberately tilted backwards and fell off the tower.

This decision to earn his trust prompted her to act normally – or as normal as she could. She had to befriend him gradually. He was suspicious as it was – and the fairly slow pace of her mission worked to her advantage, too, because she now had more time to tend to her mental wounds.

She wept every day since her arrival.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTY**

At first, Dumbledore had been overwhelmed by the good half of the truth she had decided to reveal to him.

The night she arrived, a few moments before dawn, she broke the protection locks and crept out of the dorm, and went straight to Dumbledore's room – or what could have been the closest guess to a Transfiguration teacher's room.

He'd been startled beyond belief – how did a girl who looked no older than sixteen or seventeen, break through the wards? But he was still as patient as he had been as an old man. Although Hermione had been upset at him back at home for not revealing those things about Voldemort's past, she knew he must have done it with reason and let's face it, there was only so much you could hate a about an otherwise kind man who'd guided you throughout all your school years, and had sacrificed himself in the end. She was sort of glad that she now had a chance to prevent his death.

But the question was, would Dumbledore grow up to be the person he was meant to develop into if he never experienced the enmity of a grown up Tom Riddle in the first place?

She explained where she came from, what Tom Riddle had grown into – some would have called it foolish, but she would have told him at some point anyway. Better sooner. She carefully explained that Tom shouldn't die by the hands of _anyone_ right now, and Dumbledore would not be the one to guide him away from his dark path. She said this because she knew that Dumbledore's paranoia and suspicion had also backed Riddle's change into a cruel man.

But Dumbledore was doubtful. He believed her – she even let him pry her mind, though she left out the essential details behind an unsuspecting wall – but he didn't think her theory was well thought through.

"He's dark beyond hope," he said. "He modified his uncle's memory to frame him for his father's death, and framed a half giant student for the murder of a young girl."

"I know that," she said gently. "But this is the way it was meant to be. A seer foretold this. In a way, it's an undeclared prophecy."

It had sounded very evasive, and a bit of argument occurred – he was more stubborn when he was younger, she realised – but he relented.

"But if things go too far, please, come straight to me."

She agreed, but she knew she'd break her word at least once. She had already left out the bit about the Promise completely, as well as a few details about the future – like, his death.

Hermione had also gathered all she could about a few matters and terms she had come across in the week she had spent. First, the Granger family. They were an unpredictable, not to mention exceptionally wide branched bloodline. Most had been homeschooled, secretive and their views matched either of the extreme sides of the Blood status acceptance spectrum. She could have ascended from a long line of squibs, or it was all just a coincidence, but it honestly didn't bother her.

It did mean, however, that the seer who was to arrive would have a back up story.

Dippet hadn't bothered to investigate her own story, because Dumbledore had assured him that he knew the family well. So it was simple; the new arrival would be her second cousin, still a Granger. This would make a possible difference in appearance easier to explain. She doubted if the new person would want to keep brown hair for the rest of their lives.

The Pureblood Tutoring School was also a confusing subject, but this speculation ended because the school was closing down and possibly never to be mentioned again. This would explain why no one in the future had spoken of another school. The ones who had claimed that only three schools existed could have been mistaken.

And then, there was Abraxas Malfoy. While Riddle seemed to have a few natural walls around his thoughts and once that was broken, his memories were muddled, Abraxas seemed to be cautious purposefully. His defense walls could only have been created. She had thought of him as pleasant and easy to get along with, and he still was, but there was something about him that screamed dangerous and she was surprised that no one seemed to think this way.

She vaguely recalled having eavesdropped on a conversation between Draco and Pansy. Harry had forced her and Ginny, so that they could learn more about what he was up to, actually, but they were just on a normal date. In fact, it was a forced sort of normal because they didn't want to talk about anything dark on off putting. They even brought in ridiculous conversation topics to feel more normal.

Grandfathers was one of them.

The youngest Malfoy had described him as charming and socially accepted when he was young. He had had a lousy mother, and rumour had it in the highest pureblood families that his father – Draco's great Grandfather – had tortured her. In fact, Abraxas Malfoy was more than partly responsible for Lucius' previous reputation as an influential man.

And then Draco begin to cry, saying that he couldn't take it anymore, saying he regretted having been born, saying he wished his soul had chanced upon a better form.

She and Ginny had silently agreed that they would tell Harry they came early because the date had ended soon.

But no one had mentioned Abraxas Malfoy that much. He died of dragon pox, may or may not have joined Riddle's organization during his school years. And as much as she loved mysteries, Hermione didn't like not knowing any risks involved during the course of solving mysteries.

And now two weeks had passed. The seer would arrive today. She took out the flask from her robe, prepared. She hoped it was someone she knew – familiar faces healed some just as much as they rubbed salt into the wounds of others.

The portal displayed a fair portion of energy – not as half as impressive as hers had been, but adequate. It took a while for the crackling to stop.

Hermione was very glad she had declined going to Hogsmeade with the Ravenclaws in the last minute. No one was in the library.

And when the mist passed, every single wave moving through her form, she had to focus her senses to make out the figure.

She didn't gasp. She just stated a very obvious fact.

"You're alive."

**A/N: So who do you think it is? I must inform you that I shall, in fact, include Hermione's interlude after every few chapters. Just to explain things. Her View is just as important. And all your questions shall be answered.**


	8. Chapter 7

Ginevra – Oh, _my bad_ – Ginny Granger arrived a week ago, and the news was quick to spread to the whole school that Granger had a second cousin who just joined fifth year.

Second cousin my foot. She looked more like a descendant of Dumbledore – red hair, the whole let's-hate-Riddle philosophy, fierce secretive glares that no one seemed to notice, and getting along with the other three houses as well as being immensely popular in Gryffindor.

At least, this time Abraxas shared my suspicion and open dislike. Actually, none of the Slytherins liked her, but grudgingly got along with her because she was related to Granger.

In a way, Abraxas had it for her worse than I did. And _not_ in a good way.

He had bothered to approach her the day after the Sorting Hat ceremony. She'd been standing with Granger, alone and whispering, and Malfoy had dragged me along.

"Hi." He extended his hand and flashed her a charming smile that girls just swooned over. "I'm Abraxas Malfoy." He'd always felt the need to mention his last name – while someone could argue he did it for the popularity or to spark fear, Abraxas didn't really like his surname. But he'd grown to admit it was a part of him, and he accepted it as often as possible.

Even mentally, I couldn't call the fifth year "Granger."

So, as I was saying, the red head hissed.

In my opinion, she fitted more into Slytherin than Granger did. To come to think of it, so did Dumbledore – manipulative and hissy.

"I beg your pardon?" Abraxas truly thought she was ill. No girl in the right mind would respond to him like that, even the toughest of Gryffindors. It was hilarious. "Are you not well – "

"Don't touch me."

Oh, lord, she was shaking. I thought it was temper at first, but she seemed genuinely afraid. Apparently Granger caught on, too. "He's not _him,_ Ginny," she said gently, stroking the other girl's hair. "He's not him."

She turned away.

And that, young wizards, was the first time Abraxas had been rejected by a girl. Poor boy sure did take it hard.

"What an infuriating, insolent _wench!"_

Ooh. Abraxas badmouthed someone.

"Must run in the family," I said mock solemnly.

"She can't be a Granger. _We_ gave them that name. Neither are Grangers." He paused. Do you think she's Dumbledore's love child?"

"Are you implying you hate him?"

He coloured. "You tend to rub off on people who get to know you."

Ooh. Abraxas (almost) badmouthed someone again.

The only proper thing that the flame child had done was her encounter with Avery.

"Hey." He leaned against a wall. He usually was the last person to talk to a Gryffindor, but this was Granger's cousin we were talking about. That absolutely meant anyone even closely associated with Granger was awesomecoolio (except other Gryffindors. And do note sarcasm).

The younger girl took a deep breath, which either meant she was trying to calm down or was code for Oh-God-why-me.

He looked her up and down, and I had to admit, she was nice to look at. She kept her hair neater than her supposed cousin. "I'm Maddex."

She laughed into his face.

I was biting back a grin, as were many stand-bys like me. Avery, only a few feet away, looked absolutely horrified.

"Ma-m- mad," she said in between her fits of hysterics, "Mad – ex? Like, an insane ex?"

He fumed. "Double d's."

She snorted, and fell into bouts of laughter again.

Granger, though, was turning very pink. I wondered what she was thinking at that moment. Avery regarded her.

"Hermione," he whined. Honestly, why hadn't she slapped him yet? "Coming to Potions or not?"

"With _you?_ Why would she? I don't think so," her cousin said nastily (I mean it. Avery was a dork, and Avery was evil, but no one who could have known him unless based on rumours had the right to judge him. It wasn't about good or bad, it was just fair).

"No one asked you," Avery retorted. "Honestly, Hermione, I do wish you'd pick your friends more carefully. Gryffindors? It's unbecoming."

"She can't pick family, dumbass. What, do we have to explain how babies are made to you now?"

Avery, pureblood to the T, swore at her violently.

…And ended up getting hexed and landed in the infirmary. Ginevra Granger received quite an undeserved detention from Slughorn, who just happened to pass by. I swear, he just pops up creepily.

(He's got nothing on Dumbledore, though.)

(Creep.)

Granger, though, was being sickeningly sweet. She apologised to Avery on behalf of her cousin and called a truce (though I don't know how it's a truce when the other person involved hasn't agreed to it). She also begged forgiveness from the Ravenclaw seventh years for not being able to make it to the Hogsmeade trip.

I and Abraxas discussed this. Ginny Granger had arrived the very next day – and from the same place Granger hailed. Did she mentally note the spots where the magical portals could open in, when we had done the spell the other morning? Or had the redhead come in the same library style?

Abraxas seemed upset at the thought of Granger still pursuing operation Kill Riddle, but he was foolish to have expected someone to change from Immamurderhim to Immabecomehisfriend. I very rarely exercised the slavery advantage of the Promise spell – but only because I didn't want to allow it to consume me. It was tempting, wanting the spell for extreme purposes. Whenever I thought of the slavery spell, my mind flied to evil thoughts.

Making her ruin her own life, making her ruin Dumbledore – that sort of thing. Sometimes, I admit, I even thought of sexual favours – ultimately leading to the desire to humiliate her. I didn't know if it was hatred, or dare I say, envy. But the Promise quickly acknowledged the fact she made me uneasy, and twisted this line of truth to suit its dark ways.

Instead, I forced her to tell everyone that she was my friend – were they to ask. (I repeat, more tact than Avery).

Not only was it a stupid way to use a slave, it also struck me as weird that she could be forced to lie to others, but she had the liberty to hide her secrets from me when I asked. I had truly not looked that deeply into the spell – just the basic terms – and I carefully noted to do this later.

Of course, the flame child could not openly try to kill me, because the first person to know about her plans or notice changes in her behaviour would be Granger, and the spell included her having to tell me when I or Abraxas were targeted by someone. If she did know, that is.

Not to mention I wasn't defenseless against a lousy fifth year.

Though, she wasn't all that lousy, I admitted to myself thoughtfully. Not as efficient as Granger – I had to stop complimenting her intelligence, it made me feel just a bit insecure – but she was as smart as fifth years went (my fifthyeardom don't count). She got along well excellently with Bolarden, and this gained the respect of the girls and even some of the boys, though they never admitted it because of Avery's hostility towards her.

Until dinner, of course.

She'd come to the Slytherin table, and sat calmly between Granger and Bulstrode.

Abraxas really could hold grudges if he tried.

"Becka," he said sweetly, "Tom wants to talk to you about Potions."

She blushed furiously. She didn't fancy either one of us or anything. She just did this whenever she looked like she wanted to voice out her opinion, but was too shy to. While I'd have called it spineless on some days, sometimes it was a smart move to not get involved.

Today, I could completely imagine what was going through her mind. _Tom bloody Riddle , the Potions freak, is sitting next to Hermione bloody Granger, also the Potions freak, and Riddle would want to talk to _me_ about Potions?_

But she got up without a word, and Abraxas plopped beside the Fiery One.

Immediately, all the girls in the table hissed.

Welcome to Slytherin, Lioness cub.

She had turned an amusing shade of red. It actually seemed like Septimus Weasely Syndrome.

"I must apologize, Ginevra," he said charmingly, "We had a very unfortunate start. How did your first week here go, Ginevra?"

She gritted her teeth. "Haven't you heard from your friends? I don't like being called Ginevra."

"Oh, of course! Sorry, Gin."

She stopped gritting her teeth, and turned her head very, very slowly to him. "Don't call me Gin."

"Sure thing, Gin."

"No one calls me Gin," she spat. "No one except- " She stopped.

He leaned in with exaggerated interest. "Except who?"

"Friends. Except friends."

He snorted. "Right. Because you stutter on that word. It is oh so difficult to pronounce "friends." Except who, _Gin?"_

I stared in fascination. I'd seen worse, I honestly had, but Abraxas was being crueler than I thought he was capable of today. Was his pride that vulnerable? I failed to think how he would act if he were openly against Muggleborns.

She was the only one who didn't seem startled at the table. She didn't know he wasn't always this annoying, after all. "How's your Mum doing, Malfoy?" She said sweetly. "Being a blonde bimbo and sleeping around as usual? Was it twenty, or was it twenty one business associates? I can't seem to remember."

"Ginny!" Hermione chided, appalled, the same moment I hissed, "Watch your tongue, wench."

Malfoy didn't say a word. He just turned his face to his soup, his expression calm and otherwise unreadable. "Pass the salt, would you, Avery?"

The other obeyed, his expression one of shock and awe.

Abraxas tilted the salt bottle – it occurred to me that he could have simply summoned the salt with magic – and said distractedly, "I'm afraid it's quite inappropriate for a girl like you to believe rumours like that."

I supposed he had expected to get a rise out of her for the "girl like you" bit, but she reacted differently. "Rumours?" she sneered, and continued patronizingly, "I know the truth is very hard to swallow, but Malfoy darling, grow up and look at reality when She's fucking other men in front of your father's eyes!" she sighed dramatically, and asked in a mock curious tone, "Is he in Azkaban yet? What happened to your Mum, by the way? Oh, don't worry, I've heard that the effects of a powerful Cruciatus curse doesn't last…after death."

"Very inappropriate," his voice raised an octave, "And I highly doubt if anyone could tolerate you. Do you have a boyfriend? I bet he committed suicide."

Girls gasped at the insult (it was sickening how their lives revolved around a man's attentions. I was no equalizer, but surely there were girls who wasted raw talent), but for the Grangers, it seemed to mean something else entirely. The red head froze, while Granger was whispering, "Oh my God, You've got to be kidding," half a dozen times under her breath.

The younger girl gave him a tight smile. "Spot on, Malfoy," her voice oddly lifeless. "I'm good at divination myself, but I guess you're a better teller of the past." She also whispered something that started like, "Or should I say-" and I didn't catch the last bit.

She stood up, evidently holding back tears. "I'm going back to my table, Hermione." And left.

Abraxas still seemed very calm, and a little indifferent, but I knew better.

He was feeling like shit.

Granger spoke in the end. Not whispering, either.

"I'm not going to poke my nose in your business, or Ginny's," she said, "But do know that she's been through much, much more pain than you'll ever see in your life."

"She said shit about –"

"I don't care. Sorry, Abraxas."

"How was I to know –"

"I don't give a fuck," she said firmly. The table fell silent.

"Hermione, you shouldn't swear," Avery said seriously. "You're a girl."

For a moment, I thought she was going to murder him. But she just sighed tiredly and said, "Not now, Maddex."

And that moment I realised that even the most unexpected people responded well to true affection.

"Okay, Hermione," he said in a gentle tone I'd never heard him use before. It made him sound older, and wise. Abraxas, too, couldn't help but murmur an apology, which was graciously accepted.

So what was wrong with me? Why couldn't _I_ accept her?

_Because you haven't tried to, _my conscience chortled.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTY**

In the next Charms class, I seated myself next to her. Surely Becka Bulstrode could sit somewhere else.

(That's what you get if you can't even defend yourself. Some people just had to learn the hard way.)

"Hey."

I had tried to sound cheerful, but it obviously didn't work because she turned to me with a confused look and said, "Are you unwell?"

I grimaced. "Took a shot at sounding friendly."

She snorted, but smiled at me. I supposed she was trying to assure me she was teasing.

It felt weird.

(A nice kind of weird. Not "Dumbledore is going to frame me for something I didn't do" weird.)

(I have _got_ to stop referencing him.)

The Professor certainly was taking her time.

"So Malfoy mad at you, too?" she said conversationally. I didn't know what she understood when he'd already apologised to her. Did he have to give a written apology to show her he wasn't angry?

"No. I wanted to sit here."

She looked at me then. Direct eye contact.

It wasn't that uncomfortable the first few seconds, but then I felt like there was another presence in my mind. I felt as uneasy as the first time I'd made eye contact with her. It seemed like well concealed Legilimency; but she couldn't possibly do it wandlesssly, could she? At sixteen, too.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Seventeen." The moment she answered, the discomfort of her stare vanished.

I started. "They never get ages wrong in Hogwarts. And you're smart enough to be elected as Minister of Magic. Ministress." I paused. "Shit, you weren't supposed to know that."

She giggled, and looked at me with something akin to amazement.

"What? I can make jokes," I said defensively. "Albeit feeble ones."

"Yeah."

And so I learnt to forget asking suspicion laden questions and converse comfortably, and almost felt disappointed when the Professor arrived.

**A/N: I just want to know, do you think the length of the chapters are fine? If not, why? I may or may not pay heed, but I'm trying hard to write one decent fic. Please Read and Review! Also, does it bother people that I don't have a disclaimer?**


	9. Chapter 8

Quidditch try outs.

I swear, my life would be twenty times easier if Quidditch never existed. The boys would stop bugging me, attempting to humiliate me (note the use of the word "Attempt." I refuse to acknowledge pathetic retorts followed by unnecessary laughter as decent comebacks), and pat me in the back and say, "You have a few more years, kid!" as though me not trying out didn't mean anything.

Now, I had nothing against the game.

I just didn't get the logic, understand the cosmic power people seemed to gain from flying, and how being good at Quidditch equaled automatic power when all it did was give you better reflexes.

Okay, so maybe I had a few issues with it.

But there was one advantage associated with Quidditch try outs: The Common room would be empty, and I could snoop around and pick up a few books that Avery and his followers possibly left lying around.

I hardly came to the Common room. I wouldn't be able to refrain from hexing them – especially since the Heads didn't supervise often. But I'd lose my prefect badge, possibly my possible nomination for Head Boy next year and, if my luck was particularly rotten, they'd make my silly hex look like a Dark spell and convince Dippet to kick me out.

I refused to look at this as cowardly. I _could_ stand up for myself, but I also needed to be careful.

I'd get back at them some other day. I promised myself this, not empty words.

Sadly, the Gryffindor try outs were first, which meant the Slytherins would have theirs only at the end of the week.

"Who do you think the seeker would be?" Malfoy asked me, like I actually cared. "Most people have placed it on Weasely, but personally I think he's better off as a Beater. If I do say so myself, a seeker needs a more slender build. It helps you penetrate the air faster. Hermione calls it a streamlined body. Weasely's got beefy shoulders…as much as I hate to admit, he's not stupid, he'll pick someone else…"

Oh, so he's all enthusiastic and technical _now,_ but just nods dumbly when I explain something in the library!

I was going to tell him flat out that he was pissing me off, but Flint came in and saved me from the possibility of losing my only friend. "Abraxas, they've chosen the new seeker for Gryffindor!"

"How did they pick him so quickly?" Abraxas asked, bewildered.

"_She,_ not he. And apparently it was some on-the-spot thing."

"A _girl_?" he was shocked now. "A female seeker?"

"Granger," Flint said simply.

Malfoy laughed. "Unicorn shit. Hermione's afraid of heights."

Flint looked a little uncomfortable now.

"Malfoy," I said slowly, "Wrong Granger."

He stared at me for precisely eleven seconds before bursting into peals of laughter.

Well, I wasn't dead right now, so I supposed this was a good thing. Then he stopped. "Are you serious?"

Flint nodded. "I'm sure she'll be horrible and easy to beat," he added hastily. Suck ups. They never made sense to me.

Nah, I think she'd be pretty good actually," he said casually, throwing us off. "I mean, Weasely isn't stupid. Maybe just a bit impulsive, if he chose her on the spot. But who would pick a girl unless she was better than the whole lot? Unless," he added thoughtfully, "She's going to try to appear as a distraction."

"How?" Flint asked, not quite getting the drift.

"Like a slut."

The other's jaw dropped. Malfoy never spoke of girls like that, even the actual sluts.

I cautiously considered if he was going to pose a threat to me in the future. I respected him, but if the time called I wouldn't seek his companionship. If he acted like this about a silly fifth year girl just because she didn't react well to him, what was to stop him from trying to force me onto his ideals? The probability of him actually succeeding to force me was low, but if there was one thing I learnt from Dumbledore, it's that you must never underestimate anyone.

"I'm going to the library," I interjected briskly. But they were too immersed in the conversation to notice.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTY**

My favourite table was taken. It was an important section of the library, and the books explored every branch of magic imaginable.

It also happened to be a really good place to share secret conversations, I realised quickly, as I listened to the Granger cousins converse.

"He's trying to make you think exactly that!" Indignant, rebellious and slightly annoying tone. I spy a redhead.

We've got no proof," Granger said. "Let's judge him when he actually does something, okay? I'm sick of arguing with you."

Obviously, the conversation had no more scope to develop, and I emerged from the shelves. I adopted an expression of mild surprise and curiosity on seeing them. Then I shrugged, making it look like I didn't care that they read the same books I did.

My feigned indifference seemed to assure Granger I hadn't eavesdropped, but the other girl wasn't so sure.

"How much did you hear?" she asked.

I snorted. "Please. I didn't even think other people visited this section. Granger – I mean, the brunette here, well, I'm not so surprised, but I didn't think you liked learning. Congratulations on your new position in the Gryffindor Quidditch team," I said this with all the sincerity I could muster.

It must have been a good thing, because she looked pleasantly surprised and Granger shot her a triumphant look. I had an odd suspicion they were previously talking about me. "T-thanks."

"You like reading, too?"

"Oh, no! Not much. When I need to, or when I feel like it. I, um. I think I'll go, do my homework." Then she hesitated, and looked at her cousin. She rolled her eyes, and gave an all-shall-soon-be-well look.

I assumed the flame child was afraid I'd kill Granger in her absence. As much as I wanted to argue that if that were the case, I'd have done it weeks ago, I considered the possibility of my argument fuelling her suspicion even more.

"I'm sorry my companion is behaving like a jerk to you." While I said it to make a better impression, I also meant it. To some extent.

This elicited another show of shock, and she stuttered her goodbye.

"The miscellaneousness is amazing, isn't it," I commented after a few minutes, running my fingers across the bonds. Granger, whom I could have sworn was pretending to read her book while she attempted to look at me 'sneakily,' blushed at my address. "Yeah. I feel my options really aren't so narrow when I'm here."

"What do you mean, narrow options?" I asked, resisting complimenting her intelligence again. "You'd have plenty." Damn.

"Not many good ones," she said. "St Mungo's healing programme, Auror training, or a ministry job."

"You have a lot of sections at the ministry," I pointed out.

"They're all the same kind of work." She sighed. "Papers, desk, file, muck around. And far too corrupt," she ended darkly.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"Research, ultimately." That made sense. "Maybe a curse breaker." What?

"As in, simply breaking curses?" I asked incredulously.

She nodded. "It sounds mediocre, but at least you move around." She paused. "And not fly."

I chuckled, once again feeling weirdly nice when she looked at me in amazement. "Research is your thing. Though, I think you'd make an excellent teacher."

"Really?" Then she scoffed. "You're only saying that because my lectures get on people's nerves."

"I'm absolutely serious. When you were explaining Arithmancy the other day, you _were_ brilliant," I insisted. "Please don't make me say that again."

She laughed softly. "But won't it be binding? Can't move around, too much commitment."

"Actually, you have even more opportunity to explore. You know the Floral Growth Potion?"

"Of course."

"Invented by a Mister Horace Slughorn."

She gasped, her eyes wide with admiration.

"I promise you," I said almost childishly, grinning now, feeling quite encouraged, "I had no idea until I got to the end of the page and saw his name, with all seven initials, followed by "Potions master at Hogwarts.""

"Unbelievable. And seven initials? Honestly, now?"

"His name is longer than Dumbledore's."

She rolled her eyes. "How would you know?"

I proceeded to recite both their full names dutifully.

By the time I was done, she was laughing extremely hard. I couldn't help but grin along. Her utter warmth and light heartedness was contagious – and although I was slightly disappointed at myself for keeping my guard down around the girl who had tried to kill me, I couldn't help but also feel relieved that I was not abnormally immune to her charms.

She then picked a book completely out of random. It read, _Basic Healing techniques of the Dragon Trainer: A guide. _The debate lasted for over an hour.

"Oh, Merlin. It's no use arguing with you," she sighed, leaning back on her seat.

I smirked. "I'm serious, though. Hogwarts never makes cheesecake for dessert. There has to be a reason. Either the professors are allergic – which doesn't make sense, they could just skip dessert – or the elves who cook are allergic." I regarded her. "You're not going to stop arguing with me _completely,_ are you?" I said mock worriedly.

Her smug smile caused me to break out of the act and snicker. "I _am_ quite entertaining," she said haughtily. She leaned forward, and this time, I didn't feel uncomfortable when she made eye contact. "What colour _are_ your eyes?"

I shrugged. "Grey. Blue. Big diff."

"Did you say, "Diff"?" she said in awed tones.

I huffed. "I'm not some kind of knight who speaks elegantly all the time."

"In Potions, you are. Slughorn seems to fancy himself as your damsel in distress."

I laughed aloud.

"What part of it was _that_ funny?" she asked curiously.

"I was imagining him wearing a pink dress, climb down a tower and fall on a Donkey and scream, "Tom, my boy! Give me a hand, would you?" even though there was technically nothing I could do."

She stared at me. "You're crazy," she said finally.

"Took you long enough," I feigned boredom, inspecting my nails, and she laughed.

Then suddenly, she turned intense and serious again, and I realised I enjoyed this side of her, too. "When do you think you'll snap out of it?"

I heaved loudly. "I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific."

"Sorry. When do you think you'll snap out of the childlike innocence thing?"

"What?" Did she read me wrongly?

"Okay, that came out wrong." She was nervous. "It's just, I first thought you were cautious and guarded, and now I've learnt that you're more than capable of loosening up. You have to understand, not many people go from monoexpressive, to teasing left, right and centre in a matter of seconds."

I thought about it. "well, considering I just realised I _had_ a light side, I think I'll let it stick around for a while."

She didn't smile. "We'll all grow out of it eventually, you know." Oh, Merlin. The matter of fact tone. Ruins everything, it does.

"Why do you think so?"

"Well, I guess it depends on what sort of ambition you want to pursue." She sounded like she felt awkward. "What is your ambition?" She phrased carefully, as though the words could break.

"Can I answer in a general sense?"

She nodded.

"There are some spells – spells that are considered to be Dark, by law – that are actually quite useful and harmless with the right potions," I said. "While they could be misused, it's not fair to avoid them on that basis, as there are also a lot of legal spells that are just as tempting to use for harm. I don't care what sort of job I get – I might just teach at Hogwarts – but I want to make a plea to the Ministry, to make these chosen spells legal."

"Why?"

"Because I want liberty," I said simply. "I know it sounds vague, but people have done this before; I'll have to work for years to gain evidence that these spells aren't dangerous, and work on back up potions, but if I could bring them to the 'Light Side'", I said the last words mockingly, "I'd be contributing to an extension of magical borders. I hate limiting magic when these spells are no different from the basic attack spells which are allowed."

I thought she'd laugh at me. Instead, "What do you think of blood status?"

Talk about random. "I can hardly afford to be prejudiced, being who I am. That's called hypocrisy," I said pointedly, like she was stupid. Sometimes I was ashamed of my blood status – I didn't remember how I'd come across it in the first place – but I couldn't change facts.

She gaped, but recovered. "What do you fear?"

"I don't think I can trust you with that yet. No offense," I said quietly. She actually looked a little hurt. Just a bit, but it was noticeable.

I didn't know why, but I felt bad. Maybe it was because she was so genuinely nice and _real._ "It's not just you, I don't trust Abraxas with that, either," I lied. "It's a Slytherin thing."

"O-oh." She swallowed. I could see what she was thinking, so I corrected myself. "A Slytherin _boy_ thing."

Her look of relief confirmed my assumption. No matter how nice the Slytherins were to her, she couldn't help but feel insecure, like she didn't belong.

There was a brief silence; the first silence in the past two hours. Then, I couldn't resist asking, "What do you think of Avery?"

She seemed confused, like she hadn't been expecting me to be interested in her opinion. She took a while to think about it. "Usually, I dislike bigoted people," she started, "But Maddex is sort of sweet when he's okay with you."

I snorted. "Anyone would be. Don't you think he'd act differently if you were a Mudblood?"

She flinched. "Why do you use that word?"

"Nothing personal," I said honestly. "I'm trying to emphasize on the fact that Avery quite openly discriminates against muggleborns."

She nodded, still slightly disturbed. "He's smarter than you give him credit for."

I must have looked incredulous, because she exclaimed, "It's true! He's better than Abraxas at Arithmancy, Tom."

"Even a mentally disturbed donkey is better than Abraxas at Arithmancy." I paused, suddenly realizing she had used me first name.

Well, that escalated quickly.

She must have realised, too, because she turned her famous shade of peach. "Hope you don't mind me calling you Tom."

"Hoping you don't mind me still calling you Granger," I said seriously.

She smiled.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTY**

Bol – Cassandra was sitting with that Ravenclaw sixth year today.

I felt funny.

"She's sitting with Marcus today," Malfoy observed loudly. Well, loud enough for just me to hear, that is.

"Who?"

"Luke Marcus. The sixth year."

"Lucas Marcus?" I snorted. "Weird name."

"Well, considering he's smart _and_ the Ravenclaw seeker," he said, "His "weird" name isn't helping your case."

Did I mention I _hate_ Quidditch?

"It's not "my case"," I snapped. "I'm not pursuing her."

"With that language, you're not. "Pursuing her."" He scoffed. "Why can't you just admit it, though? You can beat this guy," he said even more quietly. "He's not got anything on you… and I'm not going to say that again."

Ah. I and Abraxas were quite alike. But I didn't agree with him. "Nerdy creep against Mr. confident "He's-so-cute!" Seeker? I don't think so."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What are you going to do?" He asked like it was the most obvious first question.

Wait. Oh. It _was_ the most obvious first question.

Flint's stupidity was rubbing off on me.

I ignored Malfoy after that. I looked at the Ravenclaw table as secretively as I could, sometimes just staring at Granger with a confused expression like my "public friend" wasn't supposed to be there, just to catch a few glimpses of Cassandra.

Bolarden smiled, an almost flirty kind of smile.

Not at me, though. At Marcus. Whoa, she just winked at him. _Winked._

And proceeded to very, very slowly extend her hand and rub his shoulder. It wasn't that I'd never seen her do it before; but the way she touched him made my insides blanch.

"Is it too late to give my name for our House's Quidditch try outs?" I asked Abraxas suddenly.

**A/N: My goal in writing this fic is to a) Portray Tom Riddle as a Not-yet-Evil teenager, b) Improve my writing skills as a Not-yet-evil Teenager. *smirk* So do review, and show me how far My Not-yet-developed skills have progressed/ declined!**


	10. Chapter 9

"Oh, Merlin, did you hear?"

"I'm not Merlin," her friend giggled stupidly. "But I did hear. Can't believe he did that, why would he try out in the first place?"

"Huh? What are you two talking about?" asked another girl, confused.

"Tom Riddle actually tried out, and Abraxas made him seeker on the spot! Just like what happened to Ginny Granger."

"That's wicked! Though, I bet he cheated." I gritted my teeth. Stupid third years.

"But he turned it down," the other added. "He said he'd changed his mind."

"Why would anyone do that?"

Why _would_ anyone do that, I thought bitterly, if it meant I had to avoid a long, long list of people by reading in a broom closet and being forced to listen to a bunch of third years gossip.

I had done exceptionally well – the try outs rules changed this year; the team's captain would have to assess which sort of player the victor progressed to.

I had qualified for Chaser and Beater level – and due to democratic expectations, Abraxas, the Slytherin Quidditch captain and seeker, was forced to compete with me for the Seeker position. It was a weird system, and more than a little unfair to Abraxas as the captain's position was supposed to be permanent.

We had both spotted the snitch at the same time, but I caught it in the end.

Barely, though. The chase had been a blur. All I remembered was having to trail after the snitch on a frighteningly fragile and old model of a broomstick, with him dangerously close to bucking me out of the pitch, and I'd felt a rush, the extra rush – muggles called it adrenaline – and caught the bloody thing.

But I remembered what happened before and after the chase with astounding clarity.

To say that people were shocked when I announced that I wanted to try out, would be a magnificent and actually quite stupidly made understatement.

Abraxas gaped at me, laughed hard, then gaped, then grinned and asked me if I was serious. Then grinned again.

Granger looked worried, and was a bit snappish (though it wasn't very noticeable. That's Granger for you). This angered me, and I was going to ask (yell) what her problem was, until the flame child interrupted and shook my hand for good luck. Malfoy, on seeing this, stubbornly insisted on inspecting my limbs for traces of a curse or an after-hex.

Cassandra hugged me, and before I could let the Merlin-Is-Alive wonderful feeling sink in, she proceeded to fling her arms around Mucus – sorry, Marcus' neck no less than six seconds later. I had to resist puking then and there.

(This doesn't mean I puked somewhere else.)

(Though, there was this one time when Dumbledore – never mind.)

Avery enthusiastically wished me good luck – and, well, being Avery, dampened the moment by telling me I'd need it the most, because apparently dealing with the humiliation of losing in the try outs was far worse than facing the Cruciatus curse.

Glad to know at least _someone_ is responding normally.

At first, none of the other houses wanted to turn up for the try outs of Slytherin, but when news sprung up that _I_ was trying out, the pitch was awfully crowded.

Technically, this wasn't supposed to be allowed, but Dumbledore (a.k.a the guy who hates Riddle and would never dream of supporting a procedure which brought Riddle attention) himself was present. Even Slughorn, who liked hearing news through prefects because it made him feel important and enigmatic, was seated at an almost invisible corner of the pitch.

I felt a bit a bit sick, but then Cassandra smiled at me. Next to her sat the Ravenclaw, pensive but raising an eyebrow challengingly, and looked a bit put off that Cassandra was paying attention to me.

I suppose I must have disappointed a considerable number of people( basically everyone except Slughorn and Bolarden) by beating away every ball, passing the chaser's level, qualifying the next level _and _going Seekerish and catching the snitch.

Aver didn't look horrified, but shocked. His eyes gleamed with something I recognized: a shot at power.

Flint just picked his nose.

Cassandra stood up and clapped, pissing off her male companion and simultaneously probing the others to follow, for me.

Dumbledore just stared, his eyes twinkling with amusement ( at least, I think it was amusement) and Slughorn wore a smug, as-I-predicted look.

And Abraxas…well, Malfoy looked _wrong._

For a brief few seconds, I focused on him, the rest of the world a blur. His smile was too tight and didn't reach his eyes, and though he seemed glad, there was self disappointment and a hint of something else.

And then, I realised, he was crestfallen. I was going to replace him, and he was in the process of accepting the fact. And it was hurting him.

At first, I was annoyed.

I deserved the post. I won fair and square. He had only family expectations to meet, while I had a whole world to please, because more people hated me. And was he a _friend,_ really? An ally, of course, but someone to care about? Right then, I was in doubt.

I looked at Cassandra. She smiled, a hint of pride in her eyes. At least someone here was fully and genuinely happy for me.

That helped me make up my mind immediately. I was going to accept the post.

But then I looked at Granger.

Now, don't get me wrong. It wasn't exactly a friendly/romantic moment. I was still angry that for some unfathomable reason, she hadn't even wanted me to try out in the first place. And she currently looked like her pet snake had died, so I wasn't awed by her beauty or something. But it got me thinking: if I accepted the post, it implied automatic popularity, instant gain of power. But how much did I need the post?

I tried out to impress Cassandra – as crude and immature as that sounds. And as tempting as the popularity was, it wasn't the right way to earn support for my cause. Only people who truly respected my cause and actually saw me for _me,_ despite my flaws and talents, could be relied upon. But would anyone actually care? Would they just go along because I was made Seeker?

This wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It was shallow to use respect like that, but I just needed a little support to project my plans later on. But you know how nice-nice people reminded you of how few friends you have? That was what I felt then, looking at Granger. She'd be effortlessly genuine, but it would sting more.

Friends stood by each other, stood through all your boring lectures, stood through all the crap people gave you, defended your back, and would accept the fact you were going to displace their importance in the Quidditch team, no matter how much it stung.

Abraxas wasn't just my ally, he was my _friend._

If I accepted the post, Malfoy wouldn't hate me – he would never stoop that low – but things wouldn't be quite the same. I'd be showered with unnecessary attention, and turn into one of those shallow, piggish Quidditch players who are bitter at their previous lack of popularity – but Abraxas had a father to please. A monstrous father, and I'd have called it sucking up were the circumstances different, but his father really was a dangerous man – and easy to disappoint.

Besides, I wasn't immune to popularity like Malfoy was. Who knew how it would affect my goals? And surely I didn't want a girl like Cassandra to like me solely based on my reputation.

I looked him in the eye, and said, "I decline."

The whole pitch was buzzing. Slughorn was peering at me, intense and shocked.

Funnily enough, Abraxas was the first to protest. "You've got natural talent. Our team would win." He then leaned forward and whispered, "You need to make more friends, Tom."

"Not superficial ones," I said quietly, and then loudly announced that I changed my mind.

The volume was slowly rising. Avery just raised his eyebrows – surprisingly enough, he and Dumbledore were the only calm ones. Granger gaped at me, then closed her mouth and resorted to looking at me with fierce focus. Flint and Cassandra looked horrified, while Marcus looked mightily bewildered. Weasely stared, delighted and amused, while Brown looked at me with wide eyes, and a small smile was beginning to form on her lips.

Slughorn, who was actually not supposed to get involved or be here, raised his voice.

"Quiet, now!" he said sternly. "I know it's shocking that Tom Riddle declined the post of seeker, but there is no need for such an uproar. I think, it is in fact a decision to appreciate and respect – I am sure he simply does not want to deviate from his academic interest."

You'd think people would snort at that, but they fully believed it. That's all they knew about me – my academic interest.

Abraxas snorted, though.

At dinner, the whole table screamed at me the minute I sat down.

"The Slytherin team has a better chance of winning if you were on the team." – Abraxas

"You're so stupid!" – Flint (seriously, though, look who's talking.)

"I'm sad you said no, but I respect your decision." – Cassandra

"How did you wash your hair? It looks quite nice." – Random blonde I've never seen before

I was fed up (pun not intended), and after five swift bites of potato, I left the hall.

I had to dodge/avoid/run away from people the whole week. Of course, knowing how rotten my luck is, I ran into Ginger and Bru.

The redhead opened her mouth. I braced myself for the frequently asked question (why da heck didcha says no'z?) but instead, she said snootily, "Bet you were just scared I was going to beat you arse in the first game."

Malfoy and Granger's light attitude obviously had an impact on me, because I instantly recognized this as a joke. I sighed, pretending to be dejected. "So you've discovered the real reason," I said solemnly. "Pity, I tried _so very hard_ to keep it a secret."

They both grinned at me. The younger said, "Alright, then, I'll just leave you two to talk about Potions or whatever Quidditch hating pansies talk about." Our glares were instantaneous, but she simply smirked, and headed for her class.

"Do you regret it?" Granger finally asked me. Of course she'd be the first to present me with the right question.

"At first, the regret was so bitter, I just wanted to crawl into the library and stay there for the rest of the week," I admitted. "But then I looked at Abraxas, and realised that although most of his expression screamed disappointment at my decline, a small part of him also looked relieved. He'd never admit it, but he didn't have to."

She seemed surprised. "You did it for him?" I clenched my jaw, but she quickly corrected herself. "I'm not judging your friendship. But not many people give up the seeker's post for their friends."

I nodded, sort of relieved she wasn't judging me, at least for a moment. "It stung, but I knew I'd done the right thing." Pause. "Whatever that means."

She laughed. "Why did you look at me, though? Before you announced your decision, I mean."

Damn. I was hoping she wouldn't bring that up.

"I guess I just needed a source for second thoughts," I replied after deeply thinking about it.

"Huh?"

Well, there goes my deep thinking.

"I was going to say yes," I said, almost hesitantly. "But then I looked at you, and realised that I wasn't going to meet a lot of nice people, and if I disrupted the somewhat friendship with Abraxas, the only nice person around would be you – and sorry, but that doesn't account for much, because you're nice to everybody." She blushed at the compliment, and it took a lot of self restraint to keep out my own embarrassment from my face.

"Doesn't make too much sense, especially since Abraxas isn't the type to drop his friends for a post," she said carefully, "But are you implying that had you not looked at my face, you wouldn't have had second thoughts in the first place?"

I nodded, seeing no point in denying it. She looked at the ground for a while, then raised her head and asked if she could walk with me to class.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTY**

The most wonderful thing about Hogwarts was that news got old, fast. After about two weeks, I sat down at the table, expecting more glares and death threats and whining about letting our house down, but I was instead greeted with silence.

Apart from the fact that Malfoy decided to seat himself in the other corner of the table and refused to speak to me, things were perfectly normal.

"Join our club," Avery threw at me casually.

Okay, maybe not.

"And don't even think of pretending that you don't know what I'm talking about." Granger was right. He was smarter than he let on.

"Alright, then. Let me try a different approach. How about, "I'm a fucking half blood?""

Granger turned an interesting shade of grey green, and the others stared open mouthed, stunned at the fact I could use profanity.

I couldn't help but have been a bit biting about it. Why would Avery even suggest this? Was it my turn to get a dose of revenge from him?

And then it struck me.

I was capable of acquiring power – the try outs showed that much. I was also holding an impressive reputation for being intelligent. Avery either wanted to misuse this and destroy whatever goals I had, or wanted to gain more influence in a subtle fashion. Both ways lead to one thing: I would be used and cast aside.

Well, I could take up the challenge. I wanted to see him try. But first, I needed details. "And what do I gain from betraying my origin?"

Granger sent me a look that could was easily assumed to mean, "I do wonder why he'd ask that," but was actually code for, "What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

Oh, great. Now I could speak Granger. I can finally rest in peace.

(Sarcasm.)

(Sorry, I couldn't help that bit of patronizing. I've been meeting a lot of stupid people lately.)

"More spells, more knowledge," Avery said pleasantly. "We're not just stupidly trying to suppress mudbloods, we're trying to cleverly show them we're better than them."

"But I'm a-"

"One of your parents was a pureblood. That is all that matters." He looked into my eyes confidently – another smart move that surprised me. "An endless supply of books, funding for any feat you wish to perform, any new potion or spell you wish to investigate."

I couldn't get over how quick minded and intelligent Avery was turning out to be. Most Slytherins had either ambition or cunning – Avery had both, though I had previously assumed he'd have been the last person to be gifted with the combination.

Technically, I could refrain from personally harming muggleborns. I felt an unsettling wave of hypocrisy, but I tackled it by convincing myself that I'd eventually rise up as their leader – use their resources, break the group, and later start my own, for a whole different cause.

I was certain I could hold back from the maniacal instinct. I wasn't a social swan, but I could be.

I was a Slytherin.

I was going to agree, but Granger interrupted the process. "Excuse me."

She stepped out and revealed to me only a flicker of regard, but I instantly got the message.

"I must go as well," I said smoothly, getting out of my seat to follow her.

Avery narrowed his eyes, and looked like he wanted to ask why I'd follow a young lady who wanted a moment to herself, but instead he coldly told me he hoped I'd have a reply when I came back.

"I'm going to accept, Granger," I said quickly, once we were out of hearing distance.

It was clear she was controlling her temper. "Why?"

"The offers he makes are tempting, and quite reasonable."

"And you're surely not stupid enough to believe he'll_ not_ cheat you and trample all over your goals."

"I'm capable of harming him just as much, actually," I said coolly, "And even more."

"I don't doubt that. I can't change your mind again, can I?" I shook my head.

She sighed. "You do know that I won't stop bugging you about how he progresses, right? I hope I've made it clear that I don't appreciate prejudice."

"Very clear," I drawled. "Can't spill everything, but maybe there's something I could do to shut you up."

I really, really, really regretted saying that the minute I blurted it. Why was I being so impulsive? She didn't mean much, and though the thought of making an enemy out of the person everyone liked wasn't very pleasant, it wasn't exactly new to me. I was giving her power.

She took advantage of my words. "Try out spells with me. Every morning. Or whenever we can."

I thought it was a reasonable deal, and not much to care for, but I paused to contemplate about it. Abraxas couldn't possibly object, especially since he wanted to figure her out, and besides, the way things seemed, he wouldn't talk to me for a few days. She could learn a great deal about me, but as long as I played it safe… "Fine."

She nodded briskly, and went back to the Hall. Obviously, Avery had seen us interact.

"I'm in," I said calmly. His surprise stayed on his face for a while. Then he attempted a grin – an okay, - so-we're-alleys-now grin. Evidently, they hadn't expected me to agree, assuming Granger had warned me against accepting.

It was time people realised that I alone, was in charge of my life. Being an orphan had its advantages, as did most fates in life.

**A/N: Just out of curiosity, is the name of the girl that Abraxas marries mentioned in any of the books? Oh, and do review. I appreciate in depth criticism.**


	11. Chapter 10

Pure of Heart.

What did that even mean?

I had always wondered about purity. Did it signify an untainted past, or was it the ability to stick by the laws of fate and be honest despite a tainted past? Did it imply chastity, or was it the true sweet thoughts you possessed despite the loss of chastity?

And, more importantly, how could anyone be pure? Surely, every person has desired for more at some point or the other.

Maybe I found the dark arts interesting because although the spells required a passable amount of sinister thought, they never played with the lack of these thoughts. I loved challenges, but not impossible ones.

"Try again," she suggested. God, why couldn't she see the reality of it? First she thought I was irreversibly evil, now she assumed I was capable of purity.

Stupidly, I complied – for the twentieth time in the past hour. "Expecto Patronum," I said dully.

Nothing. Not even a spark. I'd never been this useless at other spells and charms.

But I wasn't surprised at my inability to produce a Patronus. I'd tried it before, with same results. I wouldn't be Tom Riddle if I hadn't.

But none of this occurred to Granger. She compressed her lips, and for a moment, I was gleeful that she might just give up. "That was pathetic. You're not saying it strong enough." Honestly, wouldn't she just quit?

"It's nothing to do with strength of words and you know it," I said viciously. "I don't have happy memories, I don't have confidence in anything except my intelligence and, last time I checked, Slytherins were never pure of mind."

She looked like she wanted to debate about the meaning of purity, but then decided against it. "How about this. I've come from a battlefield," she started evenly, not realizing how recent she'd made it sound, "And I've been sorted into Slytherin."

"I'm assuming this is going somewhere."

"Oh, it is definitely going somewhere," she said in a quiet but certain tone. She took out her wand, closed her eyes, inhaled, and opened her eyes to stare serenely forward. She positioned her wand. "Expecto Patronum."

There were several things to marvel at, and they all happened at once. Her voice had pronounced the spell with admirable strength, her two words as clear as the morning wind. The energy that shot out of her wand was so precise, her corporeal form sprung instantly; it wasn't gradual at all.

How much practice had she put into it? Did she have a method to clear her mind? How could anyone who'd lost a love interest, a friend, and her parents be so pure? What was she thinking about?

Had she expected it to be an otter, when she first tried out the spell?

I certainly hadn't.

Though, to be fair, not many animals suited Granger perfectly. Fierce, clever, passionate, secretive and unconditionally kind. Foxes weren't kind. Reptiles weren't passionate. Large cats? I wasn't sure if cats were known for a forgiving nature.

An otter. Unimpressive at first glance. Inconspicuous with its flaws. And as fierce and motherly as hell.

An otter would do.

When I looked at her form, it struck me that this was the first complete Patronus I'd ever seen- or ever would be seeing. Because even though I didn't know what purity meant, I couldn't find another word to describe the otter.

Other than perfect, of course.

And finally, she let it fade, and were it not for the absence of the usual vibrancy in the gentle smile she sent me, I wouldn't have noticed that the charm had taken up a bit more magical energy than she had anticipated.

I was breathless, though. "If Dumbledore, or _anybody_, manages to cast a better Patronus than yours," I said finally, "I shall fall at their feet, kiss their toes and put on a skirt."

She giggled, partly at the weak humour, and partly because she was pleased I thought so. I noticed how natural her giggle was – feminine, and actually sounded quite close to a person humming underwater. Sort of musical, and nothing like the annoying, fake gurgling that the Abby-fan-girls did.

It was official: Hermione Granger was the most real person I'd ever met. She kept more secrets than I did, she was kind to the people she detested (er, not that I actually saw her detesting anyone. Other than me, and that was until a week ago.), and she scraped through Home-Keeping classes for Witches with wonderfully imitated manners, but she would still be real.

Her realness seemed to intensify in the mornings. She wore a strange cloak, and her hair was covering her face, as always. Honestly, what was the point of tying up your hair if it was going to fall apart, anyway?

"Take off the bun," I said boldly.

She looked as though I'd suggested swallowing a pint of Love Potion to cure rabies. "Why?"

"You don't look too comfortable."

"Don't assume," she said curtly.

I shrugged. "You just don't. Have it your way, then."

She shrugged back, and leaned against the wall, playing with her hair, almost deliberately.

I don't know why, but I didn't like the nonchalant way in which she was behaving. And her hair was annoying me.

I couldn't bear it, finally. "Tie it back, then. A proper bun, or pony tail, or whatever girls call it. Or wear it down."

Her eyes flashed at me. "Why?"

"You don't look comfortable. I think I've mentioned that already."

"No, why should I listen to you?"

"It's not neat. Unbecoming, actually. I don't like it."

"Pity, because that still doesn't explain," she stepped closer, "Why I should listen to you."

The unemotional tone with which she whispered made me swallow. Of course. She'd caught on my weakness: I hated proximity, and females made me particularly uneasy, even if I was attracted to them.

But I couldn't let her win.

"You should listen to me, because I refuse to accept a mess in my surroundings, unevenness and closeness make me uncomfortable, and in this state of mind, I will not hesitate to pull off your bun harshly, or push you away."

I felt a twinge of regret at my practical admission of my weakness, but the bitterness faded when I received the response I was waiting for: shock at my honesty.

After what seemed like ages, she stepped back. "You're very bossy," she declared.

I was forced to agree, to some extent. Mentally, of course.

Outwardly, I said, "Just take off the bun."

We progressed to Transfiguration charms the next morning. At first, she refused to believe I could do well in a subject when I hated the teacher who taught it.

But when I performed a flawless spell to transform a pebble into a Spock 250 – the latest broomstick – and it proved to be just as efficient as the original model, she didn't seem too shocked. I felt a jolt of pride at the fact that she had actually expected me to excel no matter what, and I'd met her expectations.

It was her turn, and her stamina was daring: gravel to edible pudding, a large leaf to a harp(which we disposed off quickly) – her conversions were bizarre but amazing.

We took a break, although we both knew we could shout spells all day and not get exhausted.

Bless her paranoia that rivaled mine.

But I couldn't keep my mouth shut for long. "Could you at least tell me your surname? Your real one."

"It's Granger."

I scowled at her. "You're being rude on purpose. Do you honestly believe this makes you look smart?"

"Tom," she said gently, "My name really is Hermione Granger. I know it's a remarkable coincidence, that you ad Abraxas came up with the same name, but it's true. I guess you've already concluded that Ginny isn't my relative, but she might as well be. I'm a Granger, always have been. Just not with the exact same back story."

And although I found the coincidence quite remarkable, I found the fact I believed her even more so. "Okay."

And that was all it took. She smiled a thank you, and I nodded, silently promising to keep this to myself, and to not bug her about her past unless it was absolutely crucial. It nearly killed me to bottle my curiosity, but I didn't ask.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTY**

"It hurts," Abraxas groaned.

"I know," I was forced to tell him gently. Seriously, it was just a scratch. "I know it does, Abby dear."

I didn't really have much experience with children. It was sort of unfortunate, considering my friend was going to be an eight year old for the next eight hours.

"Hermoy- nee!" Seven year old Ginny Granger whined from the other side of the room. "I don't like your name, I don't like this food, and I don't like this place!"

"Why can't she just shut up," Abraxas muttered. I rolled my eyes. Even as a child, he managed to loath her. "What's her name, anyway?" Pause. "What's _my_ name?" He looked worried now.

See this is what happens when two people cast the Octage Octavius spell at the same time, only to have it backfire on both of them. The spell reduced your age by eight years, for the next eight hours. It was basically a prank spell, and I was relieved that it was the only spell that hit them, considering the other weird curses they'd hurled at each other.

No one knew who had started the fight. They watched as the redhead dodged a powerful body binding hex. Abraxas barely missed a Slug hair curse (he wouldn't have shut up about the absence of his oh-so-amazing hair, so I was glad). The girl stepped aside from a Wooden Legs (nasty spell. Your toes became brittle and were they to break, it would take weeks to grow them back. Not to mention simply walking hurt like crazy) and finally, she was pissed off and yelled, "Octage Octavio!"

But incidentally, Abraxas yelled from the other side of the corridor, "Octage Octavio!"

The spells overlapped, threw them apart, and Hogwarts was presented with exceptionally young students.

And where, you ask, was I, or Granger for that matter? We were in the library, and it was Black who described it to us in detail (he wouldn't step into the library for any other reason).

By the time we got there, Professor Docdame – the Home Keeping teacher – was giving them a stern talk. It was sort of funny; they didn't know their own names, their parent's names, where they were or what had happened, but were forced to learn that, they would soon have something called "detention."

Of course, we were to take them to the infirmary. The Healer Lady (you'd think I would know her name after five or so years here) told us as nicely as possible that we could trust her with the brats for the next few hours.

They really were bratty. The girl, I could understand, but the blond really surprised us. I had expected a gentle, polite, somewhat appealing child who made ladies gush over him. Well, the girls did gush over him, until he bit their fingers and darkly threatened to destroy their planet.

(No comment.)

However, the red head and I got along fabulously. She had a problem with Hermione's name, but loved saying mine, "Tom. Tom. Tom," and it drove people crazy, but I secretly enjoyed it. I'd never received positive attention from a child before. I even sneaked in some cake for them in their third hour, but the girl got the piece with a little more chocolate on it.

From the other corner, the blond scowled, observing this preference.

To be fair, he lapped Granger's attention like a puppy. She didn't treat him like a child, but like a young gentleman – this pleased him, very much. Of course, when he found a tiny cut on his knee, he didn't hesitate to whine her name and bury his head in her lap while she cooed over him.

I met Cassandra on the way back to Potions.

"Are they alright?" she asked worriedly. I nodded, and smiled reassuringly.

(What? I could, you know. Smile reassuringly, I mean.)

(Insert short but painful flashback when Dumbledore got drunk and I had to convince him that Slughorn was not, in fact, a Slug who was going to eat him.)

(Insert shudder at memory.)

"Of course."

"What are they like?"

"Gin-Gin's a darling," I grinned like a maniac, and shocked her completely because a) I was not known as a kid magnet and b) I just called my friend's worst enemy "Gin-Gin" and "darling". "But Abraxas – let's just say he must have been a nightmare as a child."

"Really?"

"I was just as surprised," I said animatedly, not quite feeling like myself. "But he bites girls – he likes Granger, though."

She giggled. "She really is an amazing person, or so it seems. I'd like to get to know her," she admitted shyly.

See? Have you met a more perfect person? But somehow, she couldn't be half as real as Granger could.

Don't get me wrong. Cassandra was nice to me because she actually wanted to be. But something about her told me that she would have forced herself to like me even if I was against every belief she ever held.

Granger, on the other hand, had politely but firmly refused to join Avery's side. She was nice to him, but didn't giggle pretentiously at whatever he said. She gave him rare but genuine, full lipped smiles.

That's why he liked her, I bet. I was beginning to accept he had taste.

I walked into the hall for lunch and, as if to contradict my previous thoughts about her, saw Granger tilt her head and laugh at something Avery said.

She wasn't sucking up to him, I knew. Her laugh was genuine, and to be fair, all the boys had found it particularly funny, too. It just made me realise that it wasn't just my company she enjoyed so much.

I sort of felt stupid after the split second of anger. This was _Granger._ She could enjoy Grindelwald's company (not a fair expression: I would have liked to ask him some questions, personally), and I suppose I was just flattered by the attention.

Did she even see me and Avery as different people? Or did she give us an equal lack of personal regard – I was just the dorky, awkward half blood with pathetic jokes and Avery was just the prejudiced, rich snob people pretended to care about?

It sort of hurt that the only people who were nice to me and showed that they enjoyed my company – Malfoy, Bolarden, Granger – were the ones who could possibly tolerate trolls, and so it didn't account for much if they were nice to me.

I lost my appetite, and headed for the dorms to get a book.

**LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTY**

"Of course, Professor," I said, flashing him a reassuring smile.

Slughorn smiled nervously, looking slightly disturbed. I'd have to be more careful – I couldn't mention the word "horcrux" again.

I walked back into my room, and found Abraxas sprawled across his bed, in his sixteen year old form. He must have found out about the detention – there were worry lines forming at his brow, and he seemed to be struggling with a nightmare.

It gave me more time to ponder over horcruxes.

Reading the book I had bought in fourth year just reminded me that I had, in fact, already known about horcruxes. I had read it the day I'd bought it. Yet, why had the term seemed unfamiliar this time?

Something was wrong, with me.

I tried to think about my fifth year's end, but it was painful and made me dizzy. This was meant to force people to give up, but I couldn't. I sat down, and followed the technique Granger had suggested, in order to clear my mind.

_Breathe. Dig. Concentrate._

Except her method asked to dig for a happy memory, while I was digging for a lost one.

I was muddled up, I knew it. It scared that someone had messed with my mind, but I simply focused on the order of events that happened to me in fifth year. My mind refused to comply: it jumped to an image of a stern Dumbledore telling me that it was advisable to confess killing my father.

I tried harder, pushing through painful barrier after barrier until –

_Your Diary._

I had forgotten it completely. Maybe I had written what happened…

I jumped out of my seat and searched frantically for my diary. Obviously, I had changed the location. Finally, I found it between my books and flicked to the last entry.

The contents ended at the Christmas vacation of my fifth year.

And that was it.

But there was something strange about the diary. It seemed to speak dark secrets to me. It felt more vile in my hands than any other Dark spell book I'd ever read, and I reflected that maybe, evil could become something definite, something specific.

But that wasn't it. And then, I realised, the diary did not scare me one bit, even though it should have. I felt connected to it.

It struck me the very next moment. The horrible piece of knowledge sunk in slowly.

I felt connected to it, because it contained a part of my soul.

I had created a horcrux. It was mine, it really was.

And I couldn't remember who I'd killed to create it.

**A/N: I do hope everyone has brushed up on their Tom Riddle basics, as well as their Patronus basics. The sudden beginning with the conversation with Slughorn is with reference to the true memory of Horace Slughorn from the sixth book. I'm sorry if you don't like the bit about Tom being bossy, but it was sort of necessary. Not just anybody rises up to become the Dark Lord if they were a wimp as a teenager. So, tell me what you think!**


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